ROCK in USSR
by Bob Wright
Summary: Hulk Hogan, murderer?  So says the KGB.  It's up to Hulk's teammates to prove him innocent and spring him from the gulag, or Volkoff and the Soviet Union may walk away with the world championship uncontested...  NOW COMPLETED.
1. Chapter 1

R-O-C-K IN U.S.S.R.

BY

BOB WRIGHT

AUTHOR'S NOTE: All wrestlers' in-ring personas, including those of NWA, AWA, and other territories' wrestlers, are registered trademarks of World Wrestling Entertainment, Inc. And now, sit back and enjoy this pseudo holiday special...

* * *

><p>NOT THAT LONG AGO, IN AN ARENA NOT THAT FAR AWAY...<p>

"Hello wrestling fans, Gene Okerlund here aboard this 747, en route to Moscow in the Soviet Union," the commentator grandly announced into the camera aimed at him, "All around me in the cabin are some of America's finest patriotic wrestlers, who are headed for a clash of epic proportions. In the interests of international sportsmanship, World Wrestling Federation President Jack Tunney and his fellow heads of our great country's wrestling promotions have agreed to a Christmas Eve summit series with the best wrestlers in the Soviet Union. The country that wins the most matches in the series will win this exquisite trophy," he pointed to the giant silver trophy lying on the aisle seat across from him, "and international bragging rights. Take a look around at some of the big names that will be participating," he gestured several rows back, "Over there sits the self-proclaimed American Express, Lex Luger, who will have a showdown with Lavrenti Yezhov, the equally self-proclaimed Russian Brute. And over there is our country's masked hero, the Patriot, who will be meeting Boris Zhukov. And over there, former tag team champions the U.S. Express, Mike Rotundo and Barry Windham, slated to face the team of Krusher Kruschchev and Soldat Ustinov. And across from me there, WWF superstars 'Hacksaw' Jim Duggan and Sergeant Slaughter, to square off with the uncle and nephew team of Ivan and Nikita Koloff."

He rose up from his seat. "But perhaps the biggest match of all will be the final one," he walked forward one row, "one in which World Wrestling Federation champion Hulk Hogan will defend the title against his longtime rival Nikolai Volkoff. Hulkster, for all the fans out there, how does it feel to making your first title defense in essentially enemy territory?"

"Well you know something, Mean Gene, Nikolai Volkoff can claim home field advantage all he wants, but when I step into the ring with him, every full-blooded American will be stepping in and fighting with me," the champion proclaimed proudly, "And on behalf of millions of people watching all over the world, but especially everyone in the greatest country on earth, the land of the free and the home of the brave, it'll be a pleasure to show Volkoff that his so-called Soviet superiority is nothing but a big fat lie, that the power of America is stronger than the power of Karl Marx, in the wrestling ring and the real world."

"All right then, but let us also, Hulk Hogan, remember the stipulation of the match, that in Nikolai Volkoff's corner will be his partner in the self-proclaimed Mega Mercenaries, the Iron Sheik, who still has bad blood with you for winning the title off him almost three years ago now. Fortunately, you also will be backed up by your own partner in the Mega Powers, the Macho Man Randy Savage. Now Randy," Okerlund turned across the aisle to the Macho Man, who glanced up from the newspaper he'd been reading, "You've made it quite clear that you intend to make good and sure that the Iron Sheik does nothing to interfere with the match."

"You can bet ever dollar in the U.S. Treasury on that, Gene Okerlund," Savage declared with a firm expression, "At Summer Slam, my partner in the Mega Powers and I proved that the so-called Mega Mercenaries are nothing but Mega Flops, yeah, and we're prepared to prove it again to keep the WWF championship belt out of the hands of one of the most oppressive regimes in the world, yeah! And as for that blowhard 'Classy' Freddie Blassie, who claims he can manage anyone to the title, well, in the Mega Powers' corner will of course be our manager, the best manager in all of wrestling whether Blassie's willing to accept it or not, my bride, Elizabeth," he put an arm around her in the seat next to him, "She proved herself better than him at Summer Slam, she proved herself better than him at the Survivor Series, and at the International Summit Series, because Blassie's just a glutton for punishment, she's gonna prove it a third time, ooooooooh yeah!"

"Ah yes. Elizabeth, I'm wondering, could you give us a hint at what your game plan in tackling Volkoff solo might be?" Okerlund asked her.

"Now Gene, you know I can't give away match secrets ahead of time," she half-teased him, "But I will say that Hulk, Randy and I have gone over a series of notes on Volkoff, watched numerous tapes of him in action solo, and I think we are more than ready to go by now."

"We're ready, yeah, and the so-called pride of the Soviet Union's going to get hammered and sickled till he wants to emigrate somewhere else in shame, oooooooooh yeah!" the Macho Man delcared. Okerlund had to fight from cracking up. "All right, but even though they'll have the limelight, it won't just be American and Soviet wrestlers that will be competing in the International Summit Series," he continued to the camera, walking up the plane's aisle, "Before seconding his partner Nikolai Volkoff in the main event, the Iron Sheik will be facing off with this man, the British Bulldog Davey Boy Smith. Now Davey Boy," he bent down the Bulldog's level, "How does it feel to be fighting for the pride of British citizens everywhere in this scheduled match?"

"It's a tremendous honor, Gene," Davey told him with a wide grin, "And much like Hulk, I'll be carrying the pride of the British people with me in that ring against the Sheik, who let's remember supported and worked for an oppressive regime before he became a wrestler, and harbors no regrets about torturing political prisoners while in the Shah's employ. So every blow I strike against him I'd like to think will be a blow for international freedom. I'll also," his expression dropped somewhat, "be fighting for my former partner and cousin Tom Billington the Dynamite Kid, whom I hope will be watching from home in Leeds; if you're seeing this promo, Tom," he leaned towards the camera, "we may not always agree on a lot of things, but I wish you could still be here with me, so I'll fight for you as well."

"OK then, and in fact with you here, your esteemed brother-in-law Bret 'the Hitman' Hart," Okerlund leaned past the Bulldog, "who does not have a match in the Summit Series, but has nonetheless joined the Hulkster along with the rest of the Mega Powers Rock 'n Wrestling Connection for the event as support."

"It's Christmas time, Gene; people should be together at Christmas, especially when they're far from home," the Hitman told him, "Besides, we're all a team, we all work together, and any help we can give Hulk or anyone else on the Western team, all the better. A champion has to uphold the highest ideals of the sport of wrestling, and everything a chronic cheater like Nikolai Volkoff does disgraces the sport, so whatever we can fairly and legally do to help Hulk win, we will. And to all of you out there, we wish you a merry Christmas and best wishes in the year to come," he leaned towards the camera, "We hope you enjoy the Summit Series, but most of all hope you can share the season with all your loved ones and enjoy all the love and compassion this time of year brings."

"Thank you, Hitman. One more member of your team does have a match in the Summit Series, and that is this man, Tito Santana," Okerlund walked forward one more row, "He will have the honor of the opening match of the event against Vladimir Pietrov. Mr. Santana, you have made it clear over the years you are proud of both your Mexican heritage and your status as an American citizen; would you say then that you're in fact fighting for two countries in this event?"

"I suppose you could say that, Gene, and it's certainly something I am proud of," Tito nodded with a firm smile, "For all the people in Mexico I carry with me into the ring, and the people of America who've adopted me as a native son, I feel proud to stand against an opponent who stands for tyranny and fight to the last breath like they did at both the Alamo and Chaplutepec Castle. _Arriba!" _

He raised his hand high. "All right, as you can see, the American team is ready to go," Okerlund turned back to the camera, "Now, there will be one noticeable difference from the usual manner of wrestling you may be used to seeing; as the wrestlers will be going at it Christmas Eve night outdoors inside Moscow's Central Lenin Stadium, they will during the match be wearing these special electrically warmed suits," he reached over and hefted one such suit for the viewers' benefit, "It will serve much like an electric blanket, maintaining a temperature of seventy degrees for each wrestler throughout their matches. In the interest of neutrality, Switzerland has supplied all the referees for the matches, so neither side can have an advantage with the officials. Now the International Summit Series will be airing Christmas Eve morning in the states live on NBC, so set your dials there and prepare for a holiday clash like no other. This is more than your average WWF event; this is global warfare without casualties, all for a good cause. More Superstars of Wrestling will be coming your way after these messages from your local sponsors."

He nodded once the cameraman gave him a thumbs-up and took his seat right behind Hulk. "I must say, Hulk, good luck in the main event personally," he told the champion, "Like the Hitman said, Volkoff really wouldn't make an ideal champion at all."

"You and the rest of the country can count on me, Mean Gene," Hulk assured him again, "And good luck with the call on the microphone too with whoever the Russians put across from you."

"Hope I can adapt, Hulk; it's been a good five years since I've actually called a match," Okerlund looked a little nervous, but he shrugged it off and picked up a magazine right as the pilot announced over the intercom, "Ladies and gentlemen, we are now beginning our final approach to Domodedovo International Airport in Moscow. Please make sure your seatbelts are fastened, all tray tables are in their upright and locked positions, and all cigarettes are extinguished. We hope you have enjoyed flying with us, and enjoy your time in Moscow." Hulk took a deep breath as he leaned back in his seat. "Enemy territory," he mused out loud, "Everything's going to be exact opposite of what I'm used to when we get off the plane. Well, I'm still going to beat Volkoff hands down even if everyone's cheering for him."

"Just one thing though, Hulk," Bret leaned over the seat, frowning, "Promise that if you win, you won't rip up the Soviet flag this time. I agree it's a totalitarian regime that needs to change or fall, and Volkoff's a bad example of all its terrible excesses, but ripping up the flag like you usually do when you face Volkoff would start a riot much like Volkoff causes whenever he burns the Stars and Stripes back in the States. We're goodwill ambassadors for the rest of the world; the least we can do is offer the Russians good will even if they don't return it."

"I'll try, Bret, but it won't be easy," Hulk told him. He leaned back over the seat and across the aisle; something had been bugging him throughout the trip. "Say Hitman, is it just me, or does Sarge look blue?" he inquired, his eyes on Slaughter, who, as he had for most of the flight, had been staring straight ahead with a disinterested expression.

"You know, I've noticed that," Bret nodded with a concerned look of his own, "Well, maybe once we're all checked into the hotel, we'll take him out to the closest bar and buy him a round; maybe that'll cheer him up."

"Oh yeah," Hulk agreed, looking out the window at Moscow getting larger beneath them, "He's as much an American hero as I am-heck, he should be proud he also got his own animated series. Well, anyway, let's get ready, because we're just about to land on the dark side of the moon."

* * *

><p>Down on Domodedovo's runway, Volkoff was also staring out the window of his own plane as it taxied towards a moveable stairway set up in front of the terminal. "Look, Comrade Blassie, they have red carpet and full piece band ready for me," he exclaimed loudly.<p>

"Let me see," Freddie Blassie elbowed past his charge to the window, "Well, looks like we do have a big welcome wagon waiting for us," he proclaimed, "Finally, somebody willing to treat you and me with respect, Nikolai."

"We must stop by old gym before checking in to hotel," Volkoff said eagerly, "Comrade Koloff helps run it now; Boris is top trainer..."

"Ah yes, the good old Russian Bear Ivan Koloff," Blassie reminisced, "I remember him back in the good old days, when he finally gave that pencil-neck geek Sammartino what he deserved. Should have held the title longer than he did; he was better than half the guys the WWF had at the time. Well, from what I hear, he and his nephew are doing quite well themselves."

"So I hear, Freddie. Let me see too," the Iron Sheik pushed past both of them to take a look of his own. "Ah, full service," he approved of what he saw as well, "Your countrymen pulled out all the stop for you, Nikolai."

"Of course they did, Comrade Sheik; I am Pride of Soviet Union," Volkoff bragged, "And Christmas Eve, I make them all prouder by giving that bourgeois dog Hogan beating of his lifetime."

"You'd better, Nikolai," Blassie's expression turned icy, "Because over a billion people are going to be watching this match, and I will not be humiliated in front of all them-especially with that lousy skirt Elizabeth naturally being in Hogan's corner, and I will NOT be made to look inferior to that uppity broad again, understand?" he waved his cane in Volkoff's face.

"Hey don't worry, Freddie; anything you want done to ensure Hogan loses, we're glad to help," Mr. Perfect spoke up from across the cabin.

"We'll even jump him at the hotel; since he's the big, bad capitalist, they'll let a full-on attack on him slide over here, WOOOOO!" a riled-up Ric Flair added.

"No, Ric; the cameras of the world are going to be trained on this event, so the last thing we want is attacking Hogan in broad daylight when American cameras would record it," the Classy One shook his head, "Especially when you have your own match against that fool Putski..."

"How'd he ever get roped into this when he hates the Soviet Union anyway?" Perfect had to ask.

"Probably they threatened his family or something. Thank God the flight's over," a green-looking Jimmy Hart stumbled forward once the plane finally came to a stop. "Here, dispose of this," he thrust a vomit bag towards the first stewardess entering the cabin, "I'm getting off while the getting's..."

"No way, Comrade Hart; band and reporters here for me; I'M first one off!" Volkoff took the Mouth of the South by the shoulders and pushed him back towards the rest of the Million Dollar Corporation's managers, excepting Paul Bearer but including Ted DiBiase, who were just getting out of their own seats (the rest of the group's wrestlers had stayed behind, having not being chosen for the event, but DiBiase as the prime money man had insisted on coming, and Flair and Perfect had volunteered to do any dirty work that might prove necessary). The band outside struck up a tune as Volkoff stepped out the door and onto the stairs. With a wide grin, he waved proudly to the onlookers and started forward...

...and immediately slipped on the top step and fell head over heels down the stairs to the tarmac. Blassie slapped a hand to his face in disgust. "Come on, let's get him out of here before he ruins all of us!" he grumbled to the Sheik. The two of them rushed down the stairs and helped a dazed Volkoff up. "Nothing to worry about, folks, Nikolai's just fine," Blassie quickly told the crowd, "He was, um, just doing his best imitation of, uh, Gerald Ford to mock the, uh, decadent American traditions of, um, arriving at airports with, uh, too much pomposity."

"OOOOOOOOh," came the mumur through the crowd.

"Absolutely," Volkoff picked up the ruse and beat his chest, "That is how bourgeois American dogs act when arriving at airports; as superior human beings, we Soviets are even better in mass transportating."

He received a loud cheer. "Comrade Volkoff," a distinguished, well-dressed man in a fur-lined coat was approaching along the red carpet, "You may know me; I am Vasily Menzhinsky, chairman of the Sports Commitee of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. On behalf of all of us, welcome home to Moscow, and allow me to present you with this medal on behalf of your glorious victories for Mother Russia."

He opened the case to reveal a shining golden medalion, which he then slipped around Volkoff's neck. "I thank you, Comrade Chairman," a wide-eyed Volkoff shook Menzhinsky's hand as flashbulbs blinked all around them, "Allow me to introduce Comrade Blassie and Comrade Sheik, who will help me destroy the American dog Hogan for world title."

"All of Russia is pulling for you in your noble quest, Volkoff," Menzhinsky commended him, "Comrade Gorbachev and the Central Committee will in fact be present for your match. If there is anything we can do for you..."

"I've got something in mind, Mr. Menzhinsky," Blassie spoke up, a scheming look in his eye, "See, in order to help Nikolai get ahead, we'd like to make Hogan's life during his stay here a little uncomfortable, so, if you could pull a few strings, you could, for starters..."

He whispered his request in Menzhinsky's ear. "It shall be done, Comrade Blassie," Menzhinsky nodded. "Come, Nikolai," he took Volkoff by the hand, "We have police escort to take you to your old gymnasium as you requested. Comrade Koloff has been waiting to see you for a long time now."


	2. Chapter 2

"What do you mean our reservations are cancelled!" an astounded Hulk demanded to the hotel manager at the front desk.

"We were booked full; your suites were already reserved slightly before, so we had to bump you," the manager explained matter-of-factually.

"No they weren't; you said full well when we booked the rooms that they were available!" the world champion bellowed, "Now I demand you get us new reservations, or...!"

"That's impossible, sir; we are booked solid for the next week," the manager said unemotively, "Now if you'll..."

"Wait a minute, wise guy, you can't get away with this!" an irate Roddy Piper, having been standing behind Hulk, stormed forward to the desk, "This is some kind of Soviet trick; you're trying to throw this guy off so he'll lose the match tomorrow night! Well you're not getting away with this!"

"Roddy, it's not that bad..." Hulk tried to calm his colleague down, but Piper remained irked as he pounded his fist hard on the desk, ranting, "You either give us our rooms back, or there's going to be hell to pay right now for...!"

"Security, we have an issue at the front desk; please take care of it," the manager calmly said into his phone.

"Oh no you don't; you're not throwing us out!" Piper shrieked, grabbing a plant and tossing it to the floor, then doing the same with the phone, "I'm going to stand here and rant and rave until you give us service; let's see how you like causing an international incident that...!"

He was cut off as a pair of oversized security guards grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged him towards the door. Hulk sighed in frustration. "Well, thank you anyway," he told the manager through gritted teeth. He walked back to the rest of his teammates near the wall. "Well, somehow they cancelled our reservations, even though they were booked solid before our plane took off," he said with a roll of the eyes, "Guess we'll have to look elsewhere."

* * *

><p>"Do you speak any English at all?" Hulk frustratedly said into the phone inside the frigid booth on the bustling street corner by Red Square about an hour later, "Listen, if you can understand me, we're looking for any open rooms, any at all. If you do, please let us have them; no one else has...hello? Are you there?"<p>

The hotel had in fact hung up. Sighing, Hulk slammed the receiver down and trotted over to his teammates, huddled on the curb against the already falling snow in the fading light of dusk. "Well, we're out of luck," the world champion told them, "That was the last hotel available, and I guess they had nothing."

"It's a conspiracy, that's what it is!" an irate Big Boss Man kicked at a neraby snowbank, "They knew we were coming, so they connived to make us as uncomfortable as possible!"

"Now Boss Man, you can't prove that," Bret tried to rationalize, "The Russian government probably hyped this event all up for Volkoff, so they booked the hotels with..."

"Well even if that's the case, Bret, what do we do now?" a shivering Ricky Steamboat glanced around Red Square, "Where are we supposed to go? Do we just duck into Lenin's Tomb and spend the night there?"

"If I'm forced to go in that building, I rip his rotten corpse out of the coffin and spit on him from head to toe!" Piper grumbled.

"No way, Roddy; like I said, we don't create any international incidents while we're here," the Hitman cautioned him.

"Maybe we just go back to the airport then?" an equally shivering Andre the Giant proposed.

"I'm not sleeping on a cold, unswept terminal floor either, big guy, sorry," Piper declared firmly.

"We'll think of something, guys, we'll think of something," Hulk glanced up and down the square. "The weather's right, but it just doesn't feel like Christmas," he remarked, taking note of the notably undecorated buildings and the people walking by with dour or glum expressions.

"I'd agree, Hulk; it's just not the holidays without decorations or Christmas music," Elizabeth agreed, wrapping the fur coat her husband had gotten her for her birthday tighter around herself, "Every year when we'd go over my grandparents' for the holidays, they'd always have the tree lit up and the lights covering the house from top to bottom. Sure, it didn't snow all that often in Kentucky, but we'd always..."

"Hold on," Savage held up a hand, "You hear that?"

Hulk heard it too: the sounds of children crying out in an alley nearby. He found himself bustling towards it in a flash. Inside it, a pair of cold-faced boys of about fourteen, he guessed, were pummelling away on a boy of about eleven and a girl of eight. Both of the victims were crying out in agony, which seemed to make their tormentors laugh. "Hey, stop that!" Hulk shouted at them, "Bullying isn't cool at all, dudes! So let them alone!"

The two assailants gave him harsh, arrogant looks and started berating him in Russian, their body language more than telegraphing they weren't afraid of him. "You're not scared of me, huh?" an idea crossed Hulk's mind, "Hey, Andre," he called to the Giant, "these two say they aren't scared of anything."

"Oh really?" Andre stepped forward into the entrance to the alley. Both bullies turned pale at the sight of the Giant. Andre then let out a loud roar and leaped towards them. This did the trick; both boys ran off screaming in terror up the alley. "Bullies are always cowards, Hulk, always," Andre mused with a satisfied grin.

"I know, big guy," Hulk patted him on the shoulder. He quickly dug out his Russian translation book as he approached the boy and girl, getting up slowly from the barrage they'd taken. "Uh..." he quickly flipped through the pages, not quite sure what exactly to say...

"Thank you, sir," came the boy's answer in halting but clear English. "Oh, I see...oh," Hulk said quickly, glad he wouldn't have to translate. He extended a hand to help the boy up. "You going to be OK there, little dude?"

"Oh, you two look like you could use some first aid," a deeply concerned Elizabeth bustled forward herself and helped the girl up as well, noticing with a worried expression the red marks on the children's faces, "You know if there's a doctor anywhere we could...?"

"They wouldn't take us anyway," the boy admitted sadly, "We wouldn't have enough money, not like them," he glanced with revulsion up the alley after his now faintly visible attackers.

"Who were those rotten lice anyway?" Savage inquired, helping him dust off.

"Sandro and Sergei; they're sons of a pair of powerful Politburo members who live in the good district on the other side of the square," the boy muttered in disgust, "Anyone not of their standing deserves to be bullied to them."

"And I take it you're not, then?"

"We wish we could be...say," the boy squinted at Hulk, "You're the American champion wrestler Nikolai Volkoff's going to be fighting on Christmas Eve, aren't you?"

"Yep, I'm Hulk Hogan," the champion shook the boy's hand, "And you are...?"

"Kostya; Kostya Polivinov. This is my sister Marina-she's blind," he added with a little bit of grief in his voice, and indeed Marina seemed to be staring around blankly into space without focusing on anything, "They especially pick on her for that too."

"We're sorry to hear that," Elizabeth told him, gently taking Marina around the chest and hugging her close. "Don't be worried; we're friends," she assured the girl when Marina squirmed a little.

"And since we helped you two, maybe you could help us, amigos," Tito told the children, "Our reservations got cancelled; we're looking for a new place to stay; if you know anywhere..."

"We can help you," Kostya's face lit up, "Come on, follow us."

He took his sister by the hand and bustled up the alley. "Well, that turned out well in the end," Hulk grinned knowingly at his fellow Mega Power as they and the others followed the children.

"Good deed always does get a good return, yeah; Elizabeth always says that, and it's sure true," Savage nodded firmly, "Just so long as this place has heat and lots of it..."

* * *

><p>"Behold, Comrade Blassie, the finest training center in all of Soviet Union," Volkoff grandly declared, gesturing his manager and entourage into the well-equipped gymnasium with red walls, floor, and ceiling, inside which dozens of wrestlers were fighting in rings, lifting weights, or otherwise training.<p>

"Not surprised they called it the Lenin National Wrestling Center," Sensational Sherri grumbled, looking around the gym, "In fact, it's surpising everyone in the country didn't name themselves Lenin in tribute to the guy."

"Then we wouldn't know why was who-and look who is here; Boris," Volkoff happily bounded toward a balding, bearded wrestler in a red sweatsuit. "Nikolai, old friend," Boris embraced him happily, "You have made it to top of ladder now."

"Boris Zhukov, I presume?" Bobby Heenan reached around Volkoff to shake Boris's hand, "Nikolai's spoke a lot about how you and he sparred here. You ought to come over and team with him if you could get out of your job here."

"I help train here for most part; I could get out if needed, though," Boris admitted, "Is honor to be chosen to participate in Summit Series; Patriot going down hard..."

"As are American dogs Duggan and Slaughter," came the rough voice of another bald, bearded man coming out of the office in the corner. "Well, well, Ivan Koloff, the great Russian Bear, we meet again," Blassie bustled over and shook Ivan's hand, "You were the best world's champion the WWF ever had-no offense, Sheiky," he turned to the frowning Sheik.

"Glad somebody thinks that, Comrade Blassie," Ivan commended him, rustling the chain hanging around his shoulders, "I've been appointed Hero of Soviet Union for athletic achievements in WWF; thus, I run this establishment, training the next generation of wrestlers to fight for the glory of Mother Russia."

"No one is better suited than Ivan," Menzhinsky smiled, "And no one is better than his nephew."

"Indeed; Nikita!" Ivan barked to the rear of the gym. An even larger bald and goateed wrestler, also carrying a chain, swaggered forward. "My nephew Nikita is the best man here," Ivan proclaimed proudly, "He will soon carry our national banner high in international competition: HUT, NIKITA!" he barked. Nikita immediately dropped to the floor and started doing strong push-ups. "What are you?" Ivan demanded.

"I am a well-oiled fighting machine for Mother Russia, Uncle Ivan!" Nikita recited loudly.

"What will you be in the big match?"

"A rabid, snarling Russian bear just like you, Uncle Ivan!" Nikita jumped to his feet and started pumping hand weights.

"What will happen to Hacksaw Duggan and Sergeant Slaughter when they find themselves across from you?"

"They will feel the total wrath of Mother Russia, Uncle Ivan!"

"Very good, my boy," Ivan patted his nephew on the shoulder, "He will be greatest wrestler in Soviet Union's history when his chance comes."

"I've seen better," snorted the elderly janitor collecting the garbage in the corner.

"Back to work or you're fired, Pyotr!" Ivan snapped at him. "Pyotr, he doesn't appreciate all we are do here," he apologized to everyone else.

"I'll say," Jimmy had been looking into one of the cabinets against the wall. "Hey Bobby, take a look at all this," he waved the Brain over, "They use a lot stronger stuff here than anything that's allowed back in the States."

"That is private training material!" Ivan stormed over and slammed the cabinet shut. "Anyway, Comrade Volkoff," he turned back to Blassie's charge, "If you need any help from myself or anything to win the world championship..."

"Not to worry, Comrade Koloff; I, Nikolai Volkoff, have everything well in hand for title match," Volkoff hefted a barbel and started to raise it-only the weights hadn't been secured, and came tumbling off onto Ivan and Nikita's feet. Howling, the Koloffs hopped around the room in agony. "Actually, Nikolai, I think it would be better if you did take some help," the Sheik quickly spoke up, his hand over his face.

"No problem at at, Sheik," DiBiase proclaimed. "Mr. Menzhinsky," he turned to the Soviet sports director, "Just let me know who's going to be refereeing the world title match, and I'll go find his price to ensure Nikolai's victory."

"We don't quite know who's going to be assigned, Mr. DiBiase," Menzhinsky shook his head, "And they'll probably have to sign a sworn oath vowing not to favor either the U.S. or U.S.S.R."

"I don't care what they're made to sign; EVERYBODY has a price for the Million Dollar Man," DiBiase laughed loudly.

"And if he turns out to be an idealist who tries to resist Ted's offers, a little liquor and sex ought to do the job," Sherri added sensuously.

"And we'll go sabotage Hogan's heated suit; where do they store them before the matches, Mr. Menzhinsky?" Flair asked the sports director.

"They're in the...ah, Comrade Yermakov," Menzhinsky turned to greet another man, with long black hair and mustache and wearing a formal epauletted Soviet uniform, who entered the room, surrounded by bodyguards. At the sight of the new arrival, most of the wrestlers in the gym turned pale and started working harder at their assigned tasks. "Comrade Volkoff, meet General Leonid Yermakov, KGB adjutant director of security for Soviet athletics," he introduced the newcomer to Volkoff.

"Pleasure to meet you, Comrade Yermakov," Volkoff pumped the security man's arm vigorously.

"Thank you, Comrade Volkoff," Yermakov told him dryly. "Comrade Koloff, has everyone been performing up to par so far today?" he inquired to Ivan.

"So far everyone has met expectation, Comrade Yermakov. Back to work, Nikita," Ivan ordered his nephew.

"Virgil, go work with Koloff's nephew for a while; we're going to talk business," DiBiase all but pushed his own bodyguard towards Nikita, who instantly picked him up and slammed him, then started walloping him with his chain. "So," the Million Dollar Man turned towards Yermakov, ignoring Virgil's agonized yells, "It's your job to make sure every wrestler in the Soviet Union's at top grade, right?"

"No one must doubt we are the best country in sporting events in the world," Yermakov said without a shred of emotion, "Thus all Soviet wrestlers must perform at optimum level or be left behind. Just last month, the once promising Dmitry Kozlov failed in international competition in South Africa; we had no choice but to incarcerate him for his own good until he could regain his edge..."

"So you threw him in the gulag?" a dark smile was starting to cross Blassie's face, "Interesting, very interesting..."

"What's interesting, Freddie?" DiBiase asked him. Blassie waved him close and whispered in his ear. DiBiase laughed hard again. "That's so cruel and brutal, it's perfect, Freddie!" he exclaimed with another laugh. "Mr. Yermakov," he approached the KGB man, "How'd you like to help Nikolai win the world title and become a very, very rich man in the process?"

"I'm listening," Yermakov was smiling darkly himself.

"Everyone gather around," Blassie waved his fellow managers, Flair, Perfect, Yermakov, Menzhinsky, and Ivan close, "This is just between all of us. This is how we not only get the world title off Hogan, but also get rid of that flag-waving, shirt-ripping pencil-neck geek for good..."


	3. Chapter 3

"So this is where the two of you live?" Hulk inquired, taking note of the drab gray apartment building at the end of a dismal back street.

"Papa runs the building," Kostya explained, "But not too many people come in, so there would be plenty of room for you."

"Anywhere where there's heat, that's good for us, yeah," Savage was starting to look chilled himself.

"Come, then; we'll introduce you to Mama and Papa," the boy clutched his sister's hand tight and waved the wrestlers to follow him in the front door. The walls were starting crack, and the lights looked weak, as if the power was just barely hanging on, Hulk noticed. Still, any lodging was worth it after all they'd been through so far that day. He followed the children up a set of stairs, where Kostya knocked on the first door on the right. "What took you two so long?" a rather rotund, worried woman almost threw the door open in a flourish, "I told you two not to be out so late...what happened to you?" she gasped at the sight of their injuries-followed by a shriek at all the people with her children, in particular the humongous Andre, "Who are these people? I told you never to talk to strangers...!"

"It's all right, Mrs. Polivinov, we're just looking for some lodging for the night," Hulk explained, "Your kids said you ran an apartment complex; we have more than enough money to pay for..."

"Renters, did you say?" a tall, thin mustached man bustled eagerly towards the door, "You would like a room?"

"A couple of rooms, for a couple of days, if that's OK," Bret told him, "You may or may not know us; we're..."

"Wait, I know you," Mr. Polivinov was squinting at Hulk, "You're the big American wrestler that'll be facing Nikolai Volkoff for the world title-Hog Heaven, was it...?"

"Hulk Hogan," the champion corrected him, "Yeah, that's me. I'd like to introduce..."

"Viktor, I don't know if we should let them stay here," Mrs. Polivinov whispered worriedly to her husband, "He could bring all sorts of trouble on us..."

"We won't cause any trouble, Mrs. Polivinov," Hulk assured her, "We'll be quiet for the other guests if that's what you'd want; all we might want is some training space, maybe in the basement or..."

"The police..." Mrs. Polivinov's eyes had gone wide at the Boss Man's uniform half-sticking out of his ripped bag, "You brought the police with you...!"

She tried to pull the door shut. "Hey, hey, it's OK; I'm not here to arrest you, miss," the Boss Man insisted, trying likewise to hold it open, "I'm just a former American cop; I wouldn't even know if you've done anything wrong. And look," he turned out his pockets, "No gun. I haven't carried one since I started wrestling."

"We're not here to arrest you; we're just travelers in a foreign land who'd like some shelter," Elizabeth told them, "You'd be helping us a lot."

"Vera, I see no problem; we've had trouble filling rooms anyway; think of what this will do for us to have Nikolai Volkoff's opponent stay with us," Mr. Polivinov pressed to his wife, "And I know you're still upset about what happened to your father, but they have no reason to come here for us. It's Christmas; let us offer hospitality to those who need it."

Mrs. Polivinov sighed in resignation. "They can stay," she agreed.

"Come on in, my friends," Mr. Polivinov waved the wrestlers in, "Business has been slow recently; we've been hard-pressed to fill any rooms in the complex lately."

"Well, we're glad to help your business then, Mr. Polivinov," Hulk shook the man's hand.

"Please, call me Viktor; this is Vera," he put an arm around his wife.

"Pleasure to meet both of you," the champion shook her hand as well, "What do you do, Vera?"

"I'm the morning janitor at a baking plant on the east side of Moscow," she said softly with more than a little shame, "Twelve hours cleaning up other people's mess for mere kopeks; it's no way to make a living with two children, especially one who's..."

Her voice trailed off as she glanced sadly at her daughter, now plopped in a chair and staring ahead at nothing. "Can't you just take a better job?" Steamboat inquired.

"Who has another job? There's nothing else to take!" she lamented, "It's a terrible life...!"

"But we make the best, and at least we have children to make us happy," Viktor was smiling as he hefted Kostya up onto his shoulders. "And I guess, Mr. Hogan, your friends here are famous wrestlers too?" he looked at everyone else.

"Don't you watch any TV, Vik; of course we are," Piper declared, half with pride and half with frustration, "And most of us have faced Volkoff at least once in our career."

"But you can't have done well since he's undefeated-and speak of that, here he is now," Vera pointed at the television in the living room, which was showing footage of Volkoff in action, "They've been playing up his great victories for the last few weeks to promote his match with you, Mr. Hogshead."

"Great victories? Volkoff undefeated?" Hulk shook his head in disgust at the footage, "Give me a break; he was up against John Harris in this match; that guy could hardly wrestle in the first place. And this one," he pointed at another match being shown, "Bob Brown had a bad leg in the first place; Volkoff spent half the match kicking it out from under him and making sure he was injured good before going for the kill. They've probably only been showing his wins against inferior talent all this time."

"But look, here he's pinning him," she pointed at the set, and then at Tito.

"But they're not showing before that, where he hit me from behind with Blassie's cane to take me out," Tito protested, "I was winning the match easily before he resorted to that. Volkoff always cheats like that when he's in a hole; I'll bet they haven't shown any of that either."

"Truth be told, sir, I've thought Volkoff's looked too good myself when they show his footage," Viktor admitted with a knowing smirk, "It seems they show him unable to do any wrong; no one could be that perfect."

"Well you got that right, my man; Volkoff's got the IQ of a toaster, yeah," Savage told him with his own smirk, "Randy Savage, by the way, along with the best manager in all of wrestling, my bride, the one and only Elizabeth Hulette Savage," he gently nudged her forward to shake both Polivinovs' hands.

"Oh yes, I was going to introduce everyone to you," Hulk remembered. He proceded to do just that. "This is a bit of a strange experience for us, being here," he said in closing, "Ordinarily, we're mobbed wherever we go around the world; here in Russia, we've gotten the cold shoulder so far. It's not really what you..."

"Say, Viktor, Vera," Davey's attention was fixated on a small picture hanging inside an open closet door, "Is this the last tsar and his family here? Are you related to...?"

"No, no we're not," Viktor admitted as everyone hustled over to take a look at the portrait, which was indeed of Nicholas II and his family, "But my great-grandfather was a priest here in Moscow in the first part of the century, and served the tsar loyally. In fact, he insisted on going into exile with them. They let him stay with them as far as the Volga, then they took him off the train, threw irons around his neck, and drowned him in the river-a sad foreshadowing of the way they treat organized religion today..."

"Shhhh!" Vera hissed worriedly, "They'll hear you! Especially with them here!" she pointed at the wrestlers.

"Mrs. Polivinov, I'll repeat, I have no connection to the KGB," the Boss Man said as calmly as he could, "And we certainly weren't followed here, I can guarantee you that."

"It's true, Mama," Kostya added, "There were no police with them."

"There's no way to be sure," she nonetheless looked worriedly out the window, "Police always work together to take out undesireables; the police always lie when they're on to you...!"

"Miss, I'm not lying, and I'm a good cop...well, there was a time I wasn't quite as good," the Boss Man confessed, "I am now, but there was a time...I guess being assigned to maximum security for a long stretch of time can do something to your mind. Being among the worst of society, they can pull you in and warp you a bit. There was this one guy, called himself Nailz; they got him for three murders, five counts of assault, two counts of kidnapping, and torture. He'd play mind games with me all the time, saying he was my master, and I was going to bow to him when he got out. I'll admit that when I got into wrestling, I was glad to get away from the likes of him; I hope he never does get out. But anyway, being among so much evil must have made me lose faith in the world to a degree. Thus, I was easily swayed by Freddie Blassie and joined up with him as my manager. And I carried out his dirty work, giving beatdowns to everyone I faced in the ring. Looking back, I hate what I was then."

"How do we know you're still not the same now?" Vera had to know, still looking skeptical.

"Because he has changed for the better, Vera," Hulk vouched for his colleague, "I should know; I helped him get back to the light. I guess you could say it started around the time Ted DiBiase first set his sights on the world championship. First he tried to buy the belt off me, but I know full well that the title should never change hands like that-you either earn it fairly or you don't get it. So DiBiase started throwing everything he had at me to get it. In one match, he had his bodyguard face me. Virgil gave me a good run-over, but even with DiBiase in his corner interfering in the match, I still beat him in the end. And after I pinned him, I noticed Virgil had a lot of his boss's cash on himself. And it struck me that it wasn't fair for DiBiase to just be carting around so much cash when a lot of the people who come to see us wrestle can hardly get by half the time. So I took a handful of the money and started handing it out the people at ringside."

"Well, that was very considerate of you," Viktor managed a smile, "Here, anyone who'd do that would be branded insane."

"The only downside was, DiBiase back-jumped me in a rage before I was finished," Hulk lamented, "He dragged me into the ring, screamed that no one gave away HIS money, and rammed a thick wad of them down my throat, then stamped on my windpipe to make me choke on them. I was out of action for a few weeks, while he bragged about how great he was to have put me out of commission. I wanted to get back at him so bad for that, and after some thinking, figured out the best way to get under his skin. So, after I'd been cleared to return, I came out after one of his matches, flattened Virgil when he tried to stop me, and took away DiBiase's prized Million Dollar Belt from him."

"So you condone stealing?" Vera frowned deeply at him.

"Part of me had a bit of a problem with that, Vera, yeah, but DiBiase steals from everybody else; by his own bragging, he's raided and put out of business no fewer than two dozen companies over the years," Hulk told her, "Any stealing I would do pales in comparison to him.

"But how does this have to do with the policeman becoming better?" she had to know.

"DiBiase swore he'd get the Million Dollar Belt back any way he could, Vera. And that included hiring the Boss Man to do it. I remember it well..."

* * *

><p>"<em>Ted DiBiase and Hulk Hogan going at it full-blast outside the ring!" Vince McMahon all but screamed into his microphone, "Neither man seems to have an advantage, but it appears that...wait a minute, what's this; the Big Boss Man and Freddie Blassie coming down to ringside; this cannot be good-and the Boss Man wallops Hogan across the back of the head with his nightstick! There goes the bell; Hulkster no doubt the winner by disqualification here, but look at this; Boss Man now beating him down in the middle of the ring-and now he's handcuffing him to the ropes; give me a break! Freddie Blassie grabbing the Million Dollar Belt, he's now headed over to the Piper's Pit set over there, where we were going to have some post-match comments..."<em>

_"And indeed we are, McMahon; victory comments by the Million Dollar Man on finally getting his rightful title back," a grinning Jesse Ventura openly applauded as Hulk got a gratuitously slap across the face from the Boss Man, who then climbed out of the ring and followed Blassie and DiBiase and his entourage towards the Piper's Pit set. A fuming Piper was waiting for all of them. "Well, I hate to start this interview on the wrong foot, gentlemen, BUT WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT ALL ABOUT!" he berated all his guests._

_"What that was, Piper you insignificant mite, was a shining example of the fact that there's nothing the Million Dollar Man cannot get if he wants it," DiBiase bragged to the Scotsman, "Because the Immortal Hulk Hogan," he sneered contemptuously towards the ring, where a dazed Hulk was trying futilely to extracate his hand from the handcuff, "wouldn't give me a fair shake at his world title, I vowed to create a better title, one that would put his to shame. And I put together 1.5 million dollars of the purest gold and the finest diamonds into the greatest championship belt ever made," he gestured to his belt in Blassie's hands, "And you, Hulk Hogan, had the unmitigated brass to try and take away from what me what didn't belong to you!" he snarled at the champion again, "And you know what we do, Jimmy Hart," he put an arm around his manager, "When you get hit by a thief?"_

_"Absolutely, Ted, baby; you call the cops on him!" Jimmy laughed hard, as did DiBiase. "That's right, Jimmy, and so I bought and paid for the best police assistance that money can buy," the Million Dollar Man bragged, "And I'd like to first thank you, Freddie Blassie, on coming through on a job well done for the money I paid you," he shook the Classy One's hand, "And now, my Million Dollar Belt if you please."_

"_Absolutely, Ted; let him have it, big guy," Blassie handed the Million Dollar Belt_ _to the Boss Man. The former prison guard, however, was frowning deeply. "Hold it, Blassie,_ w_hat's this he's saying about a damn payoff!" he demanded._

_"Just a charitable donation Ted gave us for this, nothing to worry about; now let him have his belt back," Blassie stressed._

_"It don't sound like a donation to me, Freddie! You said I was just recovering stolen property; you didn't say nothing about no payoff!" the Boss Man roared at him, "I demand an explanation!"_

_"I don't owe you anything, Boss Man; now I'm giving you an order; hand Mr. DiBiase back his belt!" the Classy One ordered him._

_"You heard the man; you've been paid well to do your job, now finish it and give me my property back!" DiBiase threw in a threat of his own._

_"Let me tell you something, you fat-faced punk!" the Boss Man roared at him, "NOBODY tells me what to do, boy, NOBODY!"_

_"Oh yeah?" Blassie walloped his charge in the back of the head with his cane. "You take orders from me, Boss Man, and don't you forget that!" he shouted at him, "Now give Mr. DiBiase his belt, or else!"_

_"You heard the man, Boss Man_, _give it to me!" DiBiase bellowed at him._

_"All right then!" the Boss Man gave it to him all right-he cracked DiBiase across the face with the Million Dollar Belt to a tremendous ovation. "You want this back, DiBiase, you're going to have to get the old fashioned way and earn it!" he told the Million Dollar Man coldly, "Because I can't be bought, and I sure ain't no thief!"_

_He started back towards the ring. "No, no, come back!" DiBiase begged him desperately. "Get him back here, Blassie; I've already paid you for this!" he begged the Classy One. _

_"Boss Man, get back here with that right now, or you won't wrestle again for a month!" Blassie shouted at him. _

_"Don't listen to him; go, baby, go!" Piper enthusiastically applauded the Boss Man climbing into the ring and digging out his handcuff key. _

_"Shut up, Piper!" a frantic DiBiase screamed at him. "Stop him, Virgil!" he ordered his bodyguard, who immediately charged towards the ring, but he was too late; the Boss Man unlocked Hulk and handed him the Million Dollar Belt back-and then both of them flattened Virgil with a simultaneous clothesline when he tried to grab the belt back. DiBiase exploded with a roar of frustration. "I paid you well for this, Blassie!" he berated the manager, "I expect results, not this garbage!" _

_"Shut up, Ted; it's not my fault you run your mouth off!" Blassie shouted back. _

_"Well, looks like you two have a lot to talk over and work out-but not right now!" Piper let out a roar of delight as the Boss Man charged back, smashed both men over the head with his nightstick, then conked their heads together for extra emphasis and pushed them towards Jimmy before he could do anything. He then shook hands with Hulk as the champion walked by, and followed him out through the curtain to tremendous applause. _

* * *

><p>"I realized a lot that day," the present-day Boss Man iterated, "If you let the bad in the world get to you, you'll end up becoming part of the..."<p>

There came a loud booming sound from outside. Vera immediately flung herself to the floor, her eyes wide in fear. "Darling, it's all right," Viktor tried to assure her, "Just a truck backfiring..."

"I need to make sure!" she barrelled out the door. "Is she...?" Hulk asked worriedly.

"Vera lives in complete fear of the police," Viktor admitted, deep concern in his eyes, "When she was a child, the KGB dragged her father off in the middle of the night. He'd been purchasing English Bibles on the black market to run an underground Sunday school class. Somehow they found out, and accused him of being a spy, spreading information to the Americans through the exchanges, even though it was false and he never had any access to secret information. She never saw him again; he's probably in a mass grave somewhere."

"I'm sorry," Bret told him regretfully, "So, let me guess she's hesitant about any contact with Westerners like us?"

"She's afraid history will repeat itself, and that she'll lose the things she values most today if..." Viktor glanced worriedly at his children in the corner, "But, like I said, this building is more than open to you."

"And we appreciate your hospitality, Viktor," Hulk shook his hand again, "And I can assure you nothing's going to go wrong while we're here."

* * *

><p>"Aha," mumbled the heavyset man wearing dark glasses in the black car at the head of the alley as he watched Hulk through the apartment window though an extended infrared camera. He turned to his partner next to him and gestured for a radio. "General Yermakov, we have acquired visual on the target Hogan," he related grimly, "We will maintain surveillance on him until you give the order to move forward with the rest of the operation..."<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

"Here you are, gentlemen," Menzhinsky opened the locked closet inside Central Lenin Stadium for Flair and Perfect, "We're storing all the heated suits for the wrestlers in here. Now, if you don't mind, I'll be going to the bathroom for a few moments."

He gave them both a wink and walked off. "Yeah, take a good long one; not like anything could possibly happen, huh?" Flair laughed knowingly. "OK, then," he strolled into the closet and eyed the multi-colored heated suits hanging in lockers along the wall, "Now to figure out which one they gave to Hogan."

"No problem at all," Perfect pointed to a yellow one-the only yellow one-up against the back wall, in a locker with an American flag on it, "It stands to reason they'd stick with Hogan's usual color scheme."

"Good thinking there, pal," Flair grinned, digging through his pocket.

"Hey, it's part of the gift of being simply...perfect," Perfect grinned triumphantly himself, taking the suit out of the locker and laying in on a bench, "Of course, if Plan A works just right, this won't have to factor into getting Volkoff the title at all, but better safe than sorry, like Freddie says."

"Just so long as I get first shot at Volkoff when he has the belt," Flair griped, pulling out a small set of wirecutters, "OK, where do you think the most critical point on this is going to be?"

"Anywhere's fine; just don't go too overboard so that they get suspicious," Perfect advised him. He bustled to the door and glanced around for any sign of human life nearby, but the stadium seemed otherwise empty at the moment. "Just wanted to add, Ric, Freddie asked me to second you at the event with Putski," he told Flair without turning around, "He's concentrating all his attention on getting Volkoff and the Sheik ready for their matches, so he wanted me to handle the managerial duties for you this time, to be your, you might say, executive consultant for the match."

"Executive consultant? That does have a bit of a nice ring to it, Perfect," Flair casually sliced open a slit in the suit with a small razor to reveal the wiring inside. "Hmm, nicely put together," he mused out loud, "Just got to be careful that accidents don't happen, like this...whoops."

He nonchalantly cut several wires on the suit with the wirecutters, then cut another slit on the other side and did the same. "Mission accomplished," he told Perfect with a wide smile and a thumbs-up, "IF Hogan survives Plan A-and that's a BIG if given what he's got coming-there's no way he'll be able to keep up with Nikolai at thirty below, WOOOOOOO!"

The radio in Perfect's hand hissed to life. "Give me an update, Perfect," came Blassie's voice on the other end.

"Our phase is done, Freddie," Perfect told him confidently, "How about on your end?"

"Yermakov called me; his men called him to say Hogan's about to leave the apartment he's shacked up at with his posse," the Classy One told him, "You and Flair head on back to the hotel; don't let anyone see you around the stadium. Once Hogan stops somewhere, I'll send Nikolai in to start Phase One on my end."

"Good luck, Freddie," Perfect told him, signing off. "Let's head on off, Ric," he waved Flair out the closet door, "And for the match tomorrow night, remember to wear the red robe; since that's everyone's favorite color here, might as well play to them..."

* * *

><p>"We'll try and be back at a reasonable hour, Viktor," Hulk told the apartment complex manager as he put his coat on.<p>

"I ask my renters not be in any later than eleven most evenings," Viktor told them, "Better safe than sorry..."

"Especially since you never know who's spying for the police," Vera was still giving him a suspicious look from the stove. "Mrs. Polivinov, I swear to you, we're not with the police," the world champion pressed her, "I'm not sure how I can prove it to you if you can't..."

"I think I know a way we could, Hulk," Davey was glancing at Marina, still staring blankly ahead without a word, but with a glum expression. "Your daughter doesn't say much, does she?" he asked her parents.

"There's not much for her to say; she's ashamed of her condition," Viktor shook his head sadly, "Apart from Kostya, she doesn't have anyone to talk to."

"Well, I think I know how to get her a friend," the British Bulldog opened his pet's case and carried the bulldog over to the girl. "Marina, meet Mathilda; she's my best friend, and she'd like to meet you," he told her softly, pressing Mathilda into her arms.

Mathilda licked Marina's face, making her laugh. "Yes, Mathilda loves all kids, whether they can see or not," Davey told her, rubbing her shoulders, "Why don't you two bond while we go get a drink?"

"Let's not forget you either, Kostya," Bret told the boy, digging into his pocket and pulling out another pair of Hitman shades. "Here," he slipped them over Kostya's head, "Now you're the excellence of execution yourself, and all the bullies will see you're the best there is, the best there was, and the best there'll ever be."

"Thank you, Mr. Hart," Kostya smiled at him, joining his sister in playing with Mathilda.

"We all believe in being positive examples for young people," the Hitman said with a contented smile, "We'll be back in time, Viktor," he told their father as he headed for the door with the others.

"Thank you, Mr. Hart, and be careful out there," Viktor looked quite happy himself to see his children happy.

"We will," Bret said in closing, closing the door behind himself. "They're really quite nice people," he remarked to his teammates as they bustled down the stairwell and out the door, "We ought to get them all something more lasting before he head back home."

"Do you happen to see the connections here too, Bret, for the season?" Steamboat pointed out to him, "I mean, it's the holidays, there was no room at the inn, and the only place available was a figurative stable," he pointed at the building's crumbling walls as they stepped out into the street, "And it proved to be our miracle, hasn't it?"

"Hmm," Bret thought this over, "Interesting thought, Ricky..."

"Yeah, we should get them all something good for Christmas," Tito agreed, wrapping his coat more tightly around himself against the flurries falling fast in the brisk wind,"Maybe that'll get Mrs. Polivnov to trust us for good."

"What I can hardly believe is how their family used to work for the royal family," Elizabeth remarked, staring back at the apartment building (but not noticing the black car in the alley they passed slowly pull out after them). "From that to this, that's a pretty big fall," she continued, turning forward away from the mainly silent car, "I wonder how many other people in the city come from families that were once great before the Communist Party took over?"

"Well, there would be that woman who claims to be Princess Anastasia..." Hulk pointed out.

"It ain't her, Hulkster; they did the tests and proved she wasn't her," Piper told him, "Still, for one thing, a presumed-dead princess found alive might make for a nice movie someday..."

"That might be nice to be a long-lost princess, even if you'd never get the throne," the First Lady of Wrestling said with a dreamy expression, "I'll admit I fantasized about that a little as a girl..."

"Well you don't have to fantasize; as far as I'm concerned, you are a princess and always will be," Savage hugged her close.

"Oh Randy," she blushed. They were all most quiet the rest of the way to the bar near Red Square Viktor had recommended to them (the car following them pulled into a parking space a few blocks down, and its occupants spoke loudly into their radios, but the wrestlers saw none of that). The bar was packed near to capacity with glum-looking Soviet citizens, half-heartedly sipping away on their drinks and not bothering to look at the TVs, showing more (likely doctored) footage of Volkoff in action. Two familiar figures at the bar, though, caught Hulk's attention. "Hey, guys, there's Sarge," he pointed, and sure enough, it was Slaughter, half slumped forward on his stool with Duggan next to him, still looking as glum as he'd been on the airplane.

"Still looking a little down," Savage noticed it as well, "Well, let's see if we've got the cure for the man in green."

He strode over the former Marine as everyone else dispersed throughout the bar and tapped gently on Slaughter's shoulder. "Atten, hut, Sarge, how're you feeling?" he asked half-joking.

"Macho, pleasure," Slaughter said with a flat voice, immediately taking another sip of vodka from the mug in his hand. "You've got to be careful there, Sarge; even here in Russia, you shouldn't have too many," Hulk leaned over Slaughter's face, concerned.

"He's still fine, Hulk; this is only his second one," Duggan assured him, "I'm keeping tabs on him so we're good and sober to beat the tar out of those no-good Commie cads the Koloffs tomorrow night," his face swelled with American pride, "Now some of the others on our country's team, though, might be going a little too far, like Lex over there," he said grimly, glancing over towards the cigarette machine in the corner, where Hulk saw a visibly drunk Luger swilling away on an especially large glass of liquor. "Well, we'll be sure to stay away from him, then," the world champion nodded in agreement. "So, Sarge, we've noticed you've seemed a little blue ever since our plane took off," he told the drill sergeant, "Anything bothering you, brother?"

Slaughter sighed and set down his glass. "I've served my country for close to twenty-five years," he mumbled, staring ahead into space, "I've been through just about all of Vietnam, I went into Iran to try and get the hostages out, and after all this time, with my wrestling career winding down, I have to look back and wonder, what did I really accomplish?"

"Well of course you've done a lot, brother," Hulk encouraged him, "I'd say...glass of your lightest stuff, if you can understand me," he told the bartender, who had been leaning over and speaking loudly to him in Russian; the man did in fact nod in acknowledgment and bustled towards the taps. "Look at everything you got, Sarge; you're a real American hero, you fought the good fight, you've taken several world champions to the edge, heck, you even got your own animated series, and I think it ended up more popular than mine..."

"But I'm just the sidekick; you're the star," Slaughter stared ruefully at Hulk, "You get all the glory; when I got back from Vietnam, nobody bothered to show up; nobody gave me a parade. I fought the good fight, and for what? No one won the war; no one really accomplished anything. So what was I fighting for?"

"For freedom, pal, of course," Duggan told him encouragingly, "Think of what we're going to do to the Koloffs tomorrow night as your revenge against the North Vietnamese that you couldn't do in the field."

"Well Jim, maybe that's not really the best analogy to make," Bret shook his head as he appeared as well, a full mug in hand, "It isn't right to make out an entire country as the enemy, even if you were fighting them; most of the North Vietnamese had a good reason to fight too..."

"All those years in the jungle, all for nothing, and for no thanks at home," Slaughter continued lamenting, taking another deep swig of his drink, "And then the chopper into Iran crashed along the Iraq border; we never got anywhere near Tehran, and I...I don't even remember what happened after the crash until the SEALs picked me up wandering in the desert by the Iraq/Iran border. I put my heart and soul into the military, into serving America, and now look at me," he stared grimly into the mirror behind the bar, "I'm an old man. And there's no place for old men in this country anymore."

"Now don't think that, Sarge," Hulk consoled him, accepting his beer from the bartender, "You've made it more than clear you've got plenty of fight left in you; you can do plenty of good still here in the WWF and with the Summit Series. I think you and Jim will win quite handily tomorrow night when you fight the Koloffs."

"As for us, though, that fight might be coming earlier than we thought, champ," Savage was frowning as he looked at the door, where a boisterous Volkoff was bounding in, singing loudly in Russian, the Sheik right behind him. "Hey, everybody," Blassie's charge said loudly to the entire bar, "Why so glum? We will win International Summit Series easily tomorrow. For all of you, drinks on me. Bartender, drinks for everyone," he shoved a fistful of rubles at the bartender. "And look who we have here," he glared straight at Hulk, "The biggest disgrace of America's disgraceful capitalist bourgeois society."

"What do you want, Volkoff?" Hulk asked wearily, "We just want to enjoy our drinks..."

"What drinks?" Volkoff snatched Hulk's glass out of his hand and poured the beer over the champion's head, "You are finished drink, Hogan you dog. Just like you are finished, washed up, disgrace to your country..."

"You better watch your mouth, smart guy!" Duggan warned him, rising to his feet, "On behalf of red-blooded Americans everywhere, I'll beat the tar out of you, here, in the ring, or anywhere, Ruskie!"

"Jim, it's all right," Bret tried to calm Hacksaw down. "Volkoff, we don't want any fight with you," he told him sharply, "So please just leave and..."

"We'll leave when we're good and ready, Hitman!" the Sheik snatched Bret's drink away and poured it over his head as well, "Right now, let's see Hogan prove he is as good as Nikolai out of the ring."

"I don't need to do that; I've already proved it numerous times before," Hulk said calmly, but his veins were starting to visibly throb, "Now please just..."

"What's the matter, Hogan, chicken? Bwuck, bwuck, bwuck, bwuck!" Volkoff taunted him with the classic chicken gesture, "You're bigger coward than you say to not want to face me here. This proves you disgrace America, in fact, coward."

"Please don't call me a coward, Volkoff," Hulk gritted his teeth, anger starting to rise.

"Don't give into him, Hulk; he's trying to goad you..." Bret warned him.

"And I know just how to do it, Hitman. Hey Hogan," Volkoff drew a small American flag, gestured at the Sheik for a cigarette lighter, and set the flag on fire, "Not only is this what I do to you tomorrow night, this is what Soviet Union will do to your whole stinking country in due time!" he bellowed in Hulk's face, "You Americans are all, without exception, slimy, worthless, useless, bourgeois swine, not fit to inhibit Communist world we will create, to be trampled underfoot and enslaved to...!"

With a loud roar, Hulk launched himself at Volkoff. The two of them traded hard punches in the middle of the bar to the cheers and jeers of the crowd. "Take him down, Nikolai, take him down!" the Sheik urged his partner on, then promptly picked up a chair and bashed Hulk over the head with it. "Oh no you don't, you crummy Iranian cad! HOOOOOOOOOO!" Duggan leaped off his own stool, grabbed his two-by-four from the floor, and started whaling away on the Sheik's backside. The Sheik turned around and started trading punches with Hacksaw for a few moments before the bartender pulled them apart, then pried Volkoff and Hulk apart as well, yelling at them in Russian and pointing at the door. "All right, all right, I'm leaving!" Volkoff grumbled, starting for the door while clutching his bleeding nose. "But Hogan," he turned, "You ever hit me again, in ring or elsewhere, I kill you!"

"And if you EVER desecrate the American flag to my face again, Volkoff, I'll kill you too!" Hulk counter-threatened, clutching his own bleeding nose.

"Oh really? Well, come get me then, Hogan!" Volkoff kicked the champion in the groin and bolted out the door, singing the Soviet National Anthem tauntingly at the top of his lungs as he went. "Hulk, don't it's not...!" Bret's pleas fell on deaf ears as a livid Hulk barrelled out the door after Volkoff. The Hitman sighed in frustration. "Well, he'll have to just learn for himself he's making a mistake," he asided grimly to Savage.

"He made a mistake when he entered wrestling, you pink-suited twit," the Sheik told him off, "As did you...!"

"Outta here, you desert dirtbag; HOOOOOOO!" wielding his two-by-four wildly, Duggan chased the Sheik out the door as well. "I'll take on you and your whole fascist country myself if you and Volkoff hurt Hulk at all!" he shouted after the Iranian in closing.

"At ease, trooper," Slaughter wearily called Duggan back to the counter, "This battle isn't worth fighting."

"Well Sarge, hardly any battles seem worth fighting to you anymore," Duggan told him worriedly, "You're not the Sergeant Slaughter I knew getting into wrestling hardly anymore."

"I think that Sergeant Slaughter is dead, sadly," Slaughter took another abyssmal sip of liquor, "Nothing's worth fighting for anymore."

"Well, at least there ain't gonna be no more fighting in here tonight, and we can enjoy our drinks in peace now," Savage reached for his own glass. It was at that moment, however, that there came a loud shout from the end of the bar: "Come on baby, you know you want me," followed by Elizabeth's loud protest, "Lex, I told you, I'm married and I'm not interested, now please!" The Macho Man spun quickly to see a completely drunk Luger lecherously oodling his visibly put-off bride at the end of the counter.

"Oh yes you are, and you know it," Luger slurred, taking her rather roughly by the hand, "I'm the sexiest man alive, and you're the sexiest lady alive, so let's go make some beautiful music together right now."

"Lex, I said no!" she pushed him away, "Now please just leave me al-!"

Luger abruptly threw himself onto her and started kissing passionately away, ignoring her desperate shrieks under his lips and her arms flailing at his back. With a roar of carnal rage, Savage barrelled across the bar in a flash, grabbed Luger by the shoulders and yanked him off Elizabeth. With another roar, Savage started unloading a furious barrage of lefts and rights to Luger's face until his nose was gushing blood. That proved insufficient to Savage, though, as he then slammed Luger's face repeatedly off the bar, grabbed a table and smashed it over Luger's head, and started kicking him unmercifully on the ground. "Randy, Randy, it's over, you proved your point!" a shocked Davey rushed over and tried to get between them, "He's...!"

With another roar, Savage pushed the Bulldog aside, flung Luger hard into the wall, kicked him in the back a few more times, and then picked Luger up over his head and, with one last roar, hurled him clean through the bar's front window with a loud shattering of glass that was amplified by the screams of horrified patrons all over the bar. He leaped through the now open window towards the bleeding, terrified Luger. "Don't kill me, Randy!" Luger all but screamed pathetically, trying to back away from him, "It was all a joke...I didn't mean to...!"

"A JOKE, LUGER?" the Macho Man thundered, utter fury burning in his eyes as he seized Luger by the collar and hoisted him well off the ground, "I'll spare you the worst this time, but you do it again, and you're a dead man! YOU HEAR ME, LUGER?" he roared at the top of his lungs straight into the 'Lex Express's' face, "YOU **EVER** TOUCH HER AGAIN, AND THIS FACE WILL BE THE LAST THING YOU EVER SEE! UNDERSTAND!"

"I understand, I understand!" Luger begged weakly, pure terror in his eyes.

"Randy, put him down!" a shocked Elizabeth rushed out the front door, "It's over now, I'm all right; you punished him enough!"

Savage glanced back at her, saw she was basically all right, and nodded firmly. "Get outta here!" he snarled at Luger, shoving him hard to the pavement. Whimpering, Luger rushed away down the street as fast as he could. Savage trotted back to his wife and hugged her close. "Sure you're OK?" he had to make sure.

"Yes, yes, but please don't go off like that next time," she begged him, "I know you love me, but just don't go too far. Yes, he was wrong to do what he did, but..."

"But nobody does that you, nobody," he insisted firmly, "I'd rather die than see you suffer like that at all..."

"She's right, Randy; you can't go off the deep end every time someone does something to her," Bret was shaking his head as he and the others filed out the bar door, looking just as shocked at what Savage had just subjected Luger to, "Certainly go ahead and defend her, but don't try and kill the guy, please. That temper might just get you in hot water some day if you're not careful."

"Although to be fair, that Luger guy's been asking for it for a good long while from what I hear," Piper offered a rationalization-one that was quickly made moot as the bartender rushed out, yelling and screaming in Russian at the top of his lungs. "Yes, yes, we understand; we'll pay for all the damages, sir," Bret told him calmly. "Randy, pay him," he told the Macho Man with raised eyebrows.

"OK, I guess it's fair," Savage sighed, digging out his wallet. "Here, I guess this'll cover it," he handed the bartender a thick wad of bills. He glanced up the block. "Strange the Hulkster ain't gotten back yet," he mused, frowning.

"Indeed," Davey was frowning too, "He must REALLY be bent on breaking Volkoff's neck for what he pulled in there."

"He's got to learn to control his temper too; he can't go off every time somebody insults America," the Hitman shook his head again. "Well, let's go hunt him down," he started up the block, "The last thing we want is for him to get in trouble for this."

* * *

><p>Inside the black car, one of the men inside hefted his radio back to his ear. "All set on your end now?" he hissed softly.<p>

"Everything is set," came the response, "We will move in for the final phase now."

"Go right ahead," he gave his blessing, watching the wrestlers heading up the block, "Just make sure Hogan's out of sight; his friends have started looking for him. Let me know when he comes to and the job is done. We will then give the order for the final phase of the operation."

* * *

><p>Back inside the bar, which was now returning to normal, the figure of Sheik Adnan al-Kaasie rose up from the table he had been sharing in the corner with his charge Soldat Ustinov, unseen by Hulk and his friends earlier, strode over to the nearest payphone, and started dialing a long distance number. "Speak," came the authoritative voice on the other end.<p>

"It's I, your Excellency," Adnan said sycophantically, "I want you to know, I'm inside a bar in Moscow; Slaughter is no more than ten feet away from me," he glanced at the former drill sergeant, still drinking glumly away, "Do you wish me to activate him for our cause now?"

There was silence on the other end before Saddam Hussein answered with a blunt, "No, Adnan, not yet. The time is not right to activate Slaughter for our purposes. But keep tabs on him; the time will come when all the brainwashing we did on him will come in handy, and he will yet serve me for the glory of Iraq whether he realizes it or not..."

* * *

><p>"You're back a little longer than I thought," Viktor was partially frowning as the wrestlers came back into his own room, "Quiet if you will, the children are..." he frowned further as he glanced around, "Where's mister...?"<p>

"No sign of Hulk," Steamboat shook his head softly, "Volkoff came in and started a fight, Hulk ran out after him wanting to give him a knuckle sandwich; he never came back. We've looked all over downtown Moscow for him; maybe we should just call the police..."

"No police!" Vera looked white as she leaped up off the couch where she'd been snoozing, "I don't want them here!"

"Well, I guess we'd better go back out then and keep looking," Bret sighed, "Because I can't..."

"Wait, here he comes now!" Andre exclaimed, glancing out the window. Sure enough, a familiar figure was walking dazedly towards the apartment building, his hand to the back of his head. "Thank God!" Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief. She led the rush halfway down the stairs as Hulk half-stumbled through the front door. "Hulk, where have you been; we've been so worried," she greeted him.

"Out cold, Elizabeth," Hulk groaned, stumbling up the steps, "I chased Volkoff for about five blocks, and followed him into an alley. No sooner was I inside than somebody hit me on the head from behind-probably that cretin Sheik. I just woke up about ten minutes ago and made my way back here."

"Oh, that does look bad," the First Lady of Wrestling grimaced at the large bump on his head, "Come on, come in and sit down; we'll get some ice for that."

She put an arm around him (Savage's eyebrows shot up briefly at this) and led him into the Polivinov's apartment, directing him down on a worn-down recliner. "Well, if you had an unconscious stretch, Hulk, we probably better take you to the hospital," Bret told him. "What's the nearest one, Viktor?" he asked the propriator.

"One thing, though," Davey was frowning, "The Sheik didn't leave the bar until you and Volkoff were well gone. So unless he suddenly acquired the ability to teleport, it couldn't have been him that hit you, Hulk."

No sooner were the words out of his mouth then there came the squealing of several cars' brakes directly outside the apartment building. "Oh no!" Vera went deathly pale, "They're coming...!"

"Oh no," Viktor echoed her words as he stared out the window to see several dozen uniformed officers pouring out of the cars now parked in front of the building and headed for the door. "You must go, now!" he begged the wrestlers, "Out the fire escape...!"

But it was already too late, for the heavy footsteps of the officers were already pounding up the stairs. Moments later, the door cracked inward from the blows of a battering ram, sending a now awake Kostya and Marina running into the living room, crying. The officers poured into the apartment, heavy guns drawn. "There he is!" the apparent leader of the squad pointed at Hulk, "You are Hulk Hogan?"

"Yeah, I am, now what's the meaning of...!" the champion demanded.

"Hands behind your back," the commander grabbed him and shoved him face-first into the table, "You're under arrest for murder."


	5. Chapter 5

"What's this all about!" Hulk demanded as he was handcuffed, "I didn't murder anyone!"

"Don't bother trying to deny it, Mr. Hogan," the commander warned him roughly, "You shot the janitor Pyotr Popov at Comrade Ivan Koloff's gymnasium, intending to shoot Comrade Nikolai Volkoff to keep him from winning your title."

"That's absurd!" the champion protested, "I don't even have a gun; go check for yourself in my suitcases...!"

"You broke into the gun shop near the gymnasium and stole one," the commander barked, "We found the gun in the dumpster behind the gymnasium; your fingerprints are all over it. And multiple witnesses have you threatening to kill Comrade Volkoff inside the bar around the corner..."

"After Volkoff threatened to kill me first! Look, buster, like I was just telling my friends, I've been unconscious for the last hour or so; I chased after Volkoff out of the bar, yeah, but someone knocked me out in the alley; I just woke up now, and...!"

"Shut up, American dog!" one of the nearest KGB men slugged him hard in the chest, "You couldn't stand the fact that Comrade Volkoff is better than you and would beat you easily, so you tried to kill him, and killed the janitor instead; we have ironclad proof! You are coming with us to face justice now!"

"Oh no I'm not; you're making this whole story up!" Hulk kicked at him and tried to break away, but another KGB agent tripped him to the floor and kicked him in the back. "On your feet, mongrel!" the commander hauled him roughly to his feet. "Arrest him too, for aiding and abetting a fugitive," he pointed coldly at Viktor.

"No, you can't!" Vera frantically threw herself in front of her husband, "He has done no wrong; we don't know these people...!"

"Out of the way, woman!" the commander roughly shoved her aside and slammed Viktor down to the table, cuffing him. "You have sold out the Soviet Union by associating with and harboring the likes of him," he pointed contemptuously at Hulk, "and it appears you have been trying to corrupt the future of the Soviet Union by introducing them to demonic ideals, too," his glare fell on Kostya, still with Bret's Hitman shades around his neck. He barked an order in Russian to one of his men, who cruelly snatched the shades off the boy despite his terrified cry and ripped the shades up. "Hey, leave him alone!" Bret snapped at the man, storming over to him, "He hasn't done anything to...!"

Yelling angrily in Russian, the KGB agent belted him hard in the chest and slammed him into the wall. "Search the rest of the building," the commander ordered his men, "If you find even one piece of evidence or Western propaganda, arrest and cart away everyone, even if they're underage. And get these dogs out of here to prison where they belong!" he pointed contemptuously at his prisoners.

"Let's go, dogs!" barked another officer, dragging both men towards the door as the rest of the KGB men started literally tearing the apartment apart, throwing furniture everywhere and smashing at the walls, and ignoring Marina's terrified cries. "No, please, don't take him!" Vera begged tearfully, grabbing onto her husband's shirt as he was dragged away, "Take me instead...!"

"Shut up and pull yourself together, woman!" the commander coldly shoved her away, "If I were you, I'd find a better, more truly Soviet man from now on, because he's not worthy of your love. Walk, you swine!" he kicked at Viktor when the apartment manager strained for his wife's outstretched hand. "Stay strong, Vera, stay strong!" he cried to her in closing.

"Call the U.S. Embassy; tell them they're holding me; don't let them get away with this!" Hulk cried to his teammates, "I didn't kill anyone, I swear!"

"Shut up!" the officer holding him kicked him hard as he was yanked out the door towards the cars. Fury rippling across her face, Vera whirled on the rest of the wrestlers, who'd watched everything unfold in stunned silence. "You brought this on us!" she accused them furiously through her tears, "Get out, all of you!"

"We didn't mean for this to happen," Davey stammered apologetically, "We know our friend didn't...!"

"I SAID GET OUT, NOW!" she shrieked at the top of her lungs, grabbing one of the Bulldog's suitcases and hurling it out the window with a loud shattering of glass, then collapsing the floor, sobbing hard. "All right, if that's what you want, we'll go, Mrs. Polivinov," Bret murmurred softly, "But we'll do whatever we can to get your husband out of jail, because we know he did no wrong here."

"Typical Americans, always refusing to face facts and obstructing justice," snarled one of the KGB men nearby, smashing the Polivinov's radio with a sledgehammer, "Get out like the woman said, or we'll drag you in for aiding and abetting..."

"He's Canadian, and I'm British, thank you very much, and we are going like the woman said," Davey growled at the man. He gently took Mathilda back from a sobbing, terrified Marina. "Take care of your mom; she could use you now," he told the girl gently, "We'll be leaving now, but we'll try and get your dad back for you."

He gently nudged her towards her sobbing mother, already being comforted by Kostya, and followed everyone down the stairs to the front door in a slow, almost funereal procession. "How do we get Viktor out of this and prove Hulk innocent?" he asked them all out loud, worried.

"Well, first things first, Mr. Smith; we go see what the rest of the cops know," the Boss Man said with grim determination, "Let's go see what headquarters knows..."

* * *

><p>"...so it's official then?" DiBiase asked into the phone at the fancy restaurant he and the rest of the attendent Million Dollar Corporation were now dining at. He let out a loud laugh. "I can't thank you enough for this, General Yermakov," he commended the KGB commander, "As a token of my good will for this, I'll make sure the sum of fifty million American dollars is wired to you at the nearest convenience, to be converted into however many rubles that is. No, thank <em>you<em>; you've done the world of wrestling a _huge_ benefit getting rid of Hogan like this. The Million Dollar Man_ always_ treats those who do him favors like this well, as you'll soon see. Good luck, and don't be afraid to torture the hell out of him if you feel like it. Bye."

He laughed deviously again as he hung up. "All yours, Freddie," he told Blassie, handing the manager the receiver, "Vincenelli's going to jump over the moon when he finds how we've destroyed Hogan for him."

Blassie laughed coldly along with the Million Dollar Man this time. He dialed the familiar number as DiBiase walked away, and in no more than ten seconds, the familiar voice of their underworld benefactor, Don Kennedesco Vincenelli rang up with a loud and irritated, "Who is it; I'm in the middle of dividing the payouts from the...!"

"It's Blassie, Don Vincenelli, and I've got the mother of Christmas presents for you," Blassie told him with a tremendous grin, "As of this moment, the 'Immortal' Hulk Hogan is just another prisoner in the big, bad Soviet penal system, never to see the light of day again."

He laughed hard once more and laid out the entire sequence of events to his benefactor. Don Vincenelli laughed himself once Blassie had finished. "Well, Blassie, I'm as patriotic an American as the next guy, and ordinarily I can tell the Commies to go to hell, but you hit the jackpot with this one," he commended the Classy One, "Given how thoroughly they put their dissidents through the wringer over there, Hogan's as good as finished."

"You bet," Blassie grinned sinisterly, "Since there's no way he's going to be at the stadium for the match, Nikolai'll get the title by default, and over here, there's no way Tunney can interfere to stop it. All we have to do now is just make sure our contacts with the KGB manage to get the belt off him so Nikolai can be presented with it in front of his hometown fans. And by the time this leaks out, and the State Department tries to work on his release, they'll probably have killed him off already. And there's not a damn thing any of his pencil-neck geek friends," he laughed coldly again, "can do to help him this time..."

* * *

><p>"Listen to me, I'm a former law enforcement officer; I demand a look at the evidence!" the Boss Man was shouting at the desk sergeant at the primary Moscow police station.<p>

"There is no need; the case against Mr. Hogan is considered closed," the sergeant related grimly.

"Look, I don't care how you usually do things here; in the rest of the world, you're innocent until proven guilty, and a case can't be closed until the defendant is fairly convicted!" the former prison guard pressed, "And how do we know the KGB didn't just cook this whole thing up to ensure Volkoff the title in the first place?"

"That is impossible; the KGB is a fair, law-abiding institution that protects and upholds the freedoms of the Soviet state and is loved by every Soviet citizen for keeping them safe from terrorists and wreckers such as you Americans," the sergeant rambled off matter-of-factually.

"You actually believe that rubbish?" an incensed Piper pushed his way past the Boss Man, "Listen pal, we're getting real tired of you giving us the standard party line runaround here!" he shouted directly in the sergeant's face, "I tell you, Hogan's no murderer; Volkoff started the whole situation in the bar; he tried to deliberately incite Hulk, and Hulk..."

"You are lying through your teeth," the sergeant growled, visibly losing his cool now, "Comrade Volkoff is a caring, moral, upstanding Hero of the Soviet Union who would never stoop to the level the felon Hogan would. Hogan was the one who started the fight, because he knew he couldn't beat Comrade Vokoff in a fair fight tomorrow night, and when that failed to scare him into dropping out of the contest, he decided to kill him off to..."

"Do you even WATCH Volkoff's matches?" Piper screamed at the top of his lungs, "Listen good!" he roared straight into the sergeant's face, "I was there, I swear under God in Heaven Volkoff deliberately incited Hulk, and I'm willing to wager that you people killed this Popov guy to frame him! Now either we get fair access to the evidence and Hulk gets a fair chance to defend himself, or you'll find yourself facing the hottest international heat ever...!"

"Roddy, let me," Bret gently pushed by him. "Listen, at least let Hulk go until he can have a fair trial by international standards," he pressed the sergeant.

"Not a chance; Hogan is too much a threat to the public to be allowed roaming free," the sergeant glared into his face, "And why should you care so much, Mr. Hart, when you've said you're not an American..."

"No, I'm not, but my mother is, and she believes in universal fairness as much as I do, and as much as most Americans do," the Hitman stressed, "Now you've got to realize you can't hold him forever, especially since all your evidence appears to be circumstantial, and..."

"There is nothing more to say," the sergeant interrupted coldly, "The evidence overwhelming suggests Hogan murdered Comrade Popov. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm a very busy man, and if you don't leave, you'll be arrested too for disturbing the peace."

"Oh no you don't, you don't walk away on us!" Piper bellowed as the sergeant slammed down the grating in front of his window and walked away, "We're taking this all the way to the U.N. if we have to, and you and your whole corrupt organization'll be hit with the biggest and most brutal sanctions you can imagine for...!"

"Let it go, Piper, they obviously won't help us," the Boss Man glared at the closed grating. He walked towards the door, where the rest of the team was waiting anxiously. "No dice?" Savage had already picked up the general gist of the conversation from afar.

"You know it," the former prison guard growled in frustration, "We're going to have to do it ourselves."

"Now how do we...oh, sorry," Steamboat apologized as he accidentally opened the door on a pair of people standing outside the police station. Then he saw it was Duggan and Slaughter, both looking grim. "We heard Hulk's in trouble," the former said with a scowl, "Anything you need us to help you with, Sarge and I are with you."

"So, this is now worth fighting for, huh Sarge?" Savage winked at Slaughter.

"Where freedom is threatened unjustly," Slaughter said grandly, lowering his sunglasses to reveal a new spark in his eyes, "The proud men and women of the United States Marines will always fight to free the oppressed."

"That's what I like to hear, buddy," Duggan proudly slapped his partner on the back, "Let's give these no-good Commies a taste of their own medicine: HOOOOOOOO!"

He raised his two by four high. "Now Jim, let's not get ahead of ourselves," Steamboat tried to rationalize with the patriot, "Before we can go around beating the Soviet security forces bloody, we need to get ironclad proof that Hulk's innocent so they can't simply rev up the propaganda machine to crucify him."

"And the best way to do that," the Boss Man theorized with determination on his face, "Is go to the scene of the crime and try and figure out if he could have killed the victim like he said."

"OK then, faaaaaaaaalll in, troops!" Slaughter barked out his command at the Rock 'n Wrestling Connection, "Operation Liberty Express begins...NOW!"

"Wait, wait, hold a minute," Elizabeth held up her hands, "We don't even know the specifics of the case..."

"We do now," with a wide grin, the Boss Man held up several official documents, "I swiped them when Roddy was yelling and screaming at the desk sergeant."

"Good thinking, my man," Piper commended him, "Now we can fight fire with fire..."

* * *

><p>"OK," the Boss Man consulted the official report outside the Koloffs' gymnasium, "It says here Hulk kicked the door in after he broke into the gun shop, hid around the corner from the main training room, and waited for Volkoff to show up, only it was the janitor who came in first, and he got gunned down instead. Well, let's see how that stacks up."<p>

"What did they say he stole, an Uzi?" Steamboat leaned forward to check the report.

"Yep, so let's see if anything inside corrolates to that. But first," the Boss Man squatted by the closed but still off its hinges back door of the gymnasium. "Hmm," he mused, "This might be worth something."

"What is?" Andre bent down to his level and squinted at the door.

"Take a look here, big guy," the former prison guard pointed to the locked, "The door was kicked in, but it was unlocked-it's still unlocked. Now if that was the case, why kick it in at all?"

"Very good point," Bret nodded from behind them. "Ricky, take some pictures of that; this should count as proof," he instructed the Dragon, who snapped off a few shots of the lock. "That doesn't prove anything concrete, though," the Hitman conceded.

"Well, the best way to make sure is to go inside and check it out," Slaughter pushed the door open and strode confidently inside.

"Got to be careful though, Sarge," Davey advised him, nonetheless following him in with everyone else, "We don't want to contaminate any evidence that could be lying around in here. And if this construes breaking and entering..."

"Hey, Smith, the Commies showed no respect for the law when they dragged Hulk off in the first place," Duggan theorized, "Any laws we break would pale compared to them. And knowing how stupid they are, they probably left the evidence right here in the open for us to..."

"Stupid, am I?" barked a sharp voice in the darkness in front of the group. The light blazed on, revealing a scowling Nikita Koloff in the entrance to the main training room, leveling a shotgun at them all...


	6. Chapter 6

"OK, easy there, big guy!" Piper protested, throwing up his hands along with everyone else, "We ain't gonna rob the place...!"

"You are trespassing!" Nikita snarled, keeping the shotgun trained on them, "What business do you have here?"

"We're trying to help our friend," Bret hesitantly stepped forward, "Hulk Hogan is not a murderer, contrary to what the police say. We're only here to try and prove his innocence."

"And don't think you can stop us, you big fat Ruskie, because we're finding out the truth, and you can't stop us!" Duggan threatened Nikita, waving his two by four at him.

"I'm not going to stop you, you fool, because I know Hogan's innocent as well," Nikita said flatly.

"Yeah, well I don't believe any of your government's tricks, because...!" Duggan continued ranting.

"Jim, hang on," Elizabeth held a hand in his face. "You said you think Hulk's innocent too?" she asked Nikita, looking more than a little surprised.

"Yes," Nikita said, a look of solemnity creasing on his face as he lowered the shotgun slowly, "I have traveled through America with Uncle Ivan on tour; I have seen all that Hogan has done for the wrestling fans. I know he would never stoop to murder, even if provoked. Unlike Uncle Ivan, or the bureaucrats at the Soviet sports department, I can see good in America, that it's not the dark side of the moon they all make it out to be."

"Well, good for you, trooper," Slaughter commended him, "Maybe there is hope for your country after all."

"I don't know, Sarge, I don't think we can trust this guy," Duggan still frowned at Nikita suspiciously.

"But if he thinks it's a frame-up job too, he could be of some help," Davey pointed out. "Tell us, Nikita, if it's OK to call you that," he asked the Russian, who nodded in compliance, "If you're convinced it wasn't Hulk, what do you think went down here tonight?"

Before Nikita could answer, a gruff voice rang out from the alley, "Nikita, what is going on in there? Why is the door wide open here?"

"Uh oh, Uncle Ivan," Nikita turned pale. "Hide, quick!" he told the Western wrestlers, gesturing at the nearest closet.

"All of us in there?" Piper frowned, "That's a rather tight fit..."

"You got a better idea in the clutch?" Savage grabbed the Scotsman by the hand and dragged him into the closet. It was indeed a tight fit, and Steamboat was just barely able to close to the door behind them. "This is wrong; he's just setting us up," Duggan grumbled darkly, "Ten bucks says he gives us away right off the bat; you can't trust the Ruskies with...!"

"Shhhhh!" everyone else hissed at him. They listened intently as heavy footsteps thumped into the gymnasium. "Nikita, put that gun away; all is well now," Ivan upbraided his nephew, "Who were you talking to just now?"

"Uh...hoodlums, Uncle Ivan; they had sneaked in and were going for the equipment; I chased them out the front door," Nikita said quickly.

"Crazy rabble; always perverting the Soviet system and stealing from those who have earned their worth," Ivan grumbled in disgust. He could be heard pacing around the room. "They are part of dangerous undercurrent trying to ruin the Soviet ideal, just like that terrorist Hogan, murdering Pyotr. He is proof of how low America stoops to gain its power. Oh well, he is finished now; he will serve time for his crime, and Nikolai Volkoff will be the world champion the world deserves."

"Are you sure that will be allowed, Uncle Ivan?" Nikita asked innocently, "I mean, don't international rules say that...?"

The corrupt international system doesn't go here, Nikita; you know that as well as anyone, and since they always rule against the Soviet Union, why should we bother working with them?" Ivan grumbled dismissively, "We are working to promote Russia in the world; they are only interested in money. Well, the money champion has fallen, and tomorrow, you and I will make fools of those capitalist pigs Duggan and Slaughter in front of all our countrymen."

"Why you rotten Commie...!" Duggan started to roar. A half dozen hands clamped over his mouth quickly, but unfortunately, it appeared Ivan had heard him. "What was that sound?" he groused, his footsteps coming towards the cabinet.

"Uh...mice, probably, Uncle Ivan; I thought I heard some earlier," Nikita rambled, nervous, "We'll, uh, we should call the exterminators in the morning."

"Mice you say?" the wrestlers' breaths caught as Ivan's hand could be heard clasping the doorknob, but after several seconds he released it. "Well, anyway, Nikita, there is more good news along with the fact Volkoff will be world champion; tomorrow, you, I, and every other Soviet participant in the Summit Series will be feted at a grand banquet by Comrade Menzhinsky; the General Secretary will be there as well, I understand."

"Ah, that is good news, Uncle Ivan," Nikita said in agreement, "I suppose the media will be covering it?"

"Absolutely; we will be awarded medals for our glorious work for the Soviet Union. Just remember, Nikita, be careful what you say in front of the press," Ivan cautioned him, "The American press will be quick to take anything out of proportion to slander us out of jealousy."

"In fairness, Uncle Ivan, I haven't once seen an American reporter treat us bad when we wrestle Americans..."

"Open your eyes, Nikita; they always treat us like dogs, run every story against us, just like their rotten fans that boo us every time we step into the ring!" Ivan thundered hatefully, "What has befallen Hogan is payback to all of America for opposing us and the power of Russia!"

Duggan roared in rage under the hands of everyone else; it took everyone's efforts to restrain him. "Well, I think it's time to shut down for the night," Ivan fortunately seemed finished, "We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow..."

"Yes, and it's Christmas Eve too, Uncle Ivan..."

"Nikita, I have told you not to pay any heed to those bourgeois Western holidays," Ivan scolded him, "They detract and demean our socialist superiority."

"Sorry, Uncle Ivan. I think, I think I'll stay a little longer and clean up a bit," Nikita told him.

"Very well. Don't be too late, then; you need rest for the big match," were Ivan's closing words as he walked out the door. Nikita pushed it closed softly. "Quietly, come on out," he told his guests.

Duggan flung the door open. "Get him back here!" he roared, waving his two by four wildly, "Nobody called Americans dogs...!"

"SSSSHHHHHHH!" everyone hissed at him again and tensed up; fortunately, though, Ivan did not return. "Hmm," came the Boss Man's voice from around the corner, where he was hefting a shell casing that had fallen behind the door, "This is from a Kalashnikov, not an Uzi. I guess they figured it wouldn't matter what gun was used."

"Still doesn't exactly prove innocence, Boss Man," Bret shook his head. "Tell me, Nikita, do you usually lock up firmly after dark?" he asked the Russian.

"Of course; Uncle Ivan doesn't want anything stolen," Nikita told him.

"Well, the door was unlocked and not broken in," the Boss Man informed him, "For the record, did you and your uncle have the only key?"

"Yes, we do," Nikita was frowning, "Are you saying Uncle Ivan collaborated...?"

"We're not jumping to any conclusions," the Hitman raised a hand, "We have to do this fairly. Did he answer any phone calls, or did anyone else come in?"

"Yes," Nikita nodded softly, "There was a phone call not long before closing time; Uncle Ivan took it and seemed rather agitated..."

He started pacing, fondling his goatee nervously. "You may be right; there could be a grand conspiracy here," he remarked to the Western wrestlers, "This could humiliate Russia if carried out in full. If you want to prove Hogan innocent, I wish to assist."

"Oh would you, please?" Elizabeth begged him, "Hulk's our friend; he's almost like a brother to us (Savage's eyebrows shot up again). Anything you could do..."

"Wait a minute, hold on," Duggan waved his hands wildly, "Aren't we forgetting, this man's a Ruskie; you can't trust the Ruskies!" he glared at Nikita, "Especially one who would implicate family by working with us; how do we know he's not setting us up?"

"If you must, how do I know you won't set me up if I agree, American?" Nikita glared back.

"Well, don't think any of us have forgotten Afghanistan!" Duggan bellowed, now glaring straight into Nikita's face.

"Much as we haven't forgotten Cuba!" Nikita leaned hard into Duggan.

"Or Berlin!"

"Or Zaire!"

"Or Czechoslavakia!"

"Or...!"

"Stand down, men!" Slaughter pushed between the two men, "We're on a mission here, we can't jeopardize it through infighting. Now, Mr. Duggan," he gently took his partner aside, "Reconnaisance will be a big part of this mission; out of military necessity, it would be helpful to get a mole on the inside. Mr. Koloff here," he pointed at Nikita, "fits the bill. Now, it occurs to me that he may be able to get close to the apparent perpetrators here, and get either evidence or a confession. Now, in times of war, it's best to use all options that can be used to our advantage. So let's not let this opportunity go by, especially if he genuinely wishes to assist. Am I correct?" he asked Nikita.

"Yes," Nikita nodded firmly, "I don't like to see an innocent man go to the gulag. And besides," he frowned deeply, "I don't want to see Volkoff as world champion; the man is a blathering idiot undeserving of the belt."

"Amen to that, yeah," Savage declared. "OK then, Sarge, since you're in charge, what's the operation from here, then?" he asked the former Marine.

"Tomorrow morning, Mr. Koloff will attend that breakfast banquet," Slaughter told him, turning to Nikita, "He will gather whatever intelligence he can. At the same time, one of us will go undercover to do their own gathering. Mr. Koloff, meet me at our hotel-the Krupskaya-at six hundred hours; we'll go over more specifics there. You are dismissed, soldier, and thaaaaaaat's an order."

"Good evening, Mr. Slaughter," Nikita told him, walking towards the front door. The wrestlers filed out the back door. "I still think we're making a mistake trusting this guy," Duggan continued griping, "He ain't gonna turn in his own uncle; he's probably setting us up to be arrested too...!"

"A willing risk to take in the pursuit of justice, Mr. Duggan," Slaughter told him, "We'll assemble at my place at six hundred hours as well..."

"Speaking of which, Sarge, would you recommend any place for us to stay, if you know any?" Davey asked him, "We were sort of kicked out of our own lodging..."

"Not to worry, Private Smith; there's still spare rooms at our hotel," Slaughter assured him.

"Luger ain't staying there, is he?" Savage frowned deeply.

"Nope, no sign of him," Duggan told him, "Maybe a good thing too, given what Sarge told me happened earlier," he raised an eyebrow at Savage, "I just hope Hulk," his expression grew worried, "has a reasonable night's sleep given what the KGB's probably going to put him through..."

* * *

><p>"In here with him," General Yermakov ordered his guards, who dragged Hulk into the interrogation room at the prison camp outside Moscow and shoved him into the chair at the table. "All right," the general glared down at the wrestler, "You will sign this confession that you murdered Pyotr Popov," he shoved a form onto the table in front of Hulk.<p>

"Never!" the world champion snarled defiantly.

"Arrogant swine!" Yermakov slapped him hard across the face, "If you do not sign, you will see how justice is done here in the Soviet Union!"

"Do whatever you want, brother, but I'm not signing a false statement," Hulk folded his arms across his chest.

"Very well. Igor, Georgy!" Yermakov shouted into the corridor. Two giant, hulking, wild-eyed guards stepped into the room. "Prepare to give him the treatment," the general ordered them, "Do whatever you want to him until he signs."

"Go ahead; I'm not signing no matter what," Hulk spit at the guards, "And God bless America!"

"Put him through the wringer," Yermakov told his men coldly, striding out the door and closing it behind himself. He cracked a cold smile as the sound of blows being struck in the room rang out. Sooner or later, everyone cracked under the usual treatment...


	7. Chapter 7

The sound of a bugle blowing loudly in the hallway roused the Rock 'n Wrestling Connection from their beds in the lone room Slaughter had been able to procure for them. "Oh come on!" Piper groaned out loud, stuffing his pillow over his ears, "It's Christmas Eve morning, have some respect!"

The door was flung wide open. "Rise and shine, maggots!" Slaughter ordered, ignoring the shouts of the other hotel patrons from the adjoining rooms, "We have a mission to accomplish, and time is ticking!"

"Just ten more minutes, please!" the Scotsman begged, rolling over.

"Come on you guys, you said you'd do anything for Hulk last night; let's get moving," Duggan slipped his head into the doorway as well, "We've got to get to that big important Ruskie breakfast and see if anyone there can prove anything-assuming that big ugly dope Nikita bothers showing up to help," he grumbled under his breath, "and here's hoping he didn't just turn us all in to the KGB..."

"Mr. Slaughter," came Nikita's voice from up the hallway. He was huffing as he slid to a stop in front of the door. "Make this fast; Uncle Ivan is waiting outside in the limousine the Central Committee procured for the festivities; I told him I would be meeting a friend in here who wanted to wish me luck," he told the former drill sergeant.

"This will be quick enough, soldier," Slaughter assured him. "Now," he turned towards the Western wrestlers, "Would any of you have brought a recording device of any kind with you?"

"Well, as luck would have it," Steamboat rifled through his suitcase and pulled out his tape recorder, "It served well enough back in Calgary; will it do here, Sarge?"

"I guess it will," Slaughter nodded after examining it, "Mr. Koloff, slip this on," he slid it under Nikita's coat, "Turn it on before you exit this building, and don't let anyone know you have it on you. If we're lucky, we'll get a confession off someone. Now, I'll need a volunteer," he turned back to the wrestlers, "Mr. Duggan here," he put an arm around Hacksaw, "has graciously agreed to go undercover to try and get intel as well. Who else would be willing to take reconnaissance work...but keep in mind we can't have too many moles..."

The wrestlers exchanged glances. "Guess it'll be me," Savage stood up, shaking off an initial look of reluctance, "Looking around, I guess I'd be the most likely to pass for Russian physically, yeah."

"Good for you, Mr. Savage," Slaughter commended him, "All right then, fall out everyone!" he ordered, ignoring everyone's tired groans, "Our sacred duty awaits, because the Soviet penal system certainly won't be waiting for Hogan."

* * *

><p>"Has he cracked yet?" General Yermakov demanded his torturers, now dragging a bloody Hulk down the cellblock towards him.<p>

"No, General," Igor shook his head, stunned, "And we gave him everything in the book."

"A real American doesn't take a fall no matter what he's put through," Hulk snarled defiantly at Yermakov, spitting in his face again. Yermakov in turn slapped him hard again. "Lock him up with the traitor who sheltered him," he ordered, jerking a finger at the nearest cell, "We'll give him another running over soon, and he doesn't confess then, he dies."

"Then I'll only regret that I have..." Hulk was briefly cut off as Igor and Georgy flung him hard through the open cell door, then staggered to his feet and shouted back as the door was locked, "...I regret only that I have one life to give for my country."

Yermakov and his men marched off without looking back at him. Clutching his ribs, Hulk turned towards his cellmate. "Viktor, how're you holding up?" he asked the apartment manager, who was slumped on the cell's bench, his face reddened and etched with a dismal expression. He turned slowly towards Hulk with an expression blending frustration, regret, and fury, and turned away. "Hey, I'm sorry if I got you into this, brother, really I am," Hulk said apologetically, sitting down next to him, "I had no idea they would come and break into your place, really I didn't. Now we've just got to figure a way to get out of here..."

"There is no escape, not from this place," Viktor mumbled weakly, "Just like Vera's father never came back from the gulag, we won't either. And what will my children do then? What will they do when I'm not there...?"

"You're be out for Christmas, I promise you that," Hulk said optimistically, "Either the U.S. Embassy here springs us in the next few hours-and Viktor, I'll make sure they take you too if they spring me-my friends'll come in to get me, or we'll break out ourselves..."

"Are you crazy!" Viktor turned and roared in his face, "No one escapes from here, I said! This is the pit of no escape for everyone who deviates from the national mission of socialist paradise on earth! I deviated by letting you in...!"

"Now come on, you don't mean that," Hulk tried to calm him down, "You know you were right to help us when we had nowhere else to go. And since you helped us, we're going to help you. There's..."

"There's nothing that can help us now," Viktor let out a low sob as he shook his head, "They'll now do everything in their power to harrass my family and make them feel inferior; Vera will be run out of town in disgrace; they'll seize the apartment and throw her and the kids out. Kostya and Marina will be ostracized and thrown out of school; we barely had enough money to send them there anyway, much less try and deal with Marina's blindness, and now..."

From across the cellblock, another prisoner started crying out desperately in Russian. Although Hulk couldn't understand a word of it, it was clear the man was desperate. "Shut up, you dog; no water for you!" Yermakov bellowed contemptuously, storming up to the cell. When the prisoner did not stop, he furiously waved for the nearest guards to open the cell and stepped out of sight. He returned moments later with a whip, which, shouting in Russian himself, he started cracking on the prisoner while the guards, also taunting him in Russian, kicked him mercilessly. "Hey, stop it, you animals!" Hulk shouted at them, enraged, "That's no way to treat anyone, you...!"

"Shut up you swine!" Yermakov cracked the whip in the wrestler's direction, "You'll have no food if you don't mind your business. Leave this garbage here; he's had enough," he ordered his men, who locked the bleeding, sobbing prisoner back in his cell and walked away. "See?" Viktor glumly remarked, having been unable to watch, "It's over. There's no hope..."

"There's always hope, brother," Hulk put an arm around him, "In a lot of my matches, things looked hopeless too sometimes. There was this one time against King Kong Bundy-well, you wouldn't know who he is-but he was giving me the beating of my life. I could barely move, and I was bleeding all over, but I wasn't going to give up, not when all the people had come to see me put him in his place. So I managed to find enough momentum to recover, and I managed to beat Bundy good, even slammed him for the first time in his career. So there's always hope, Viktor, and I'm willing to wager anything my friends are working on something to get us out of here..."

* * *

><p>"Why are we going this way?" Duggan asked, frowning, as he and Slaughter were led down the alley towards the Polivinov's apartment complex, "We're going to be late..."<p>

"I think we're going to have enough time for this, Jim," Bret said, frowning himself, "I think it's time you took a look at the wider situation by meeting some people who might change your view on Russians..."

"I don't need to change my view," Hacksaw said defiantly, "There's no such thing as a good Ruskie, Hitman; they're all rotten to the core. All trying to suppress our way of life and take over the world..."

"Not every Russian, pal," Savage frowned at him too, "These people might really make you think twice, yeah..."

"...but it looks like we're not the only ones paying them a visit," Elizabeth looked worried as she pointed at the apartment building, out front of which numerous cars were parked-and through a broken-open window, smashing and screaming could be heard. "Oh no you don't, whoever you are!" the Boss Man drew his nightstick and led the charge into the building. The former prison guard shoved the door to the Polivinov's apartment open, startling the knot of men inside who had been smashing all the furniture and spray-painting the walls. "Out of here, you thugs!" the Boss Man ordered.

The nearest thug yelled at him in Russian and started to draw a gun. The Boss Man knocked it away with his nightstick, then bashed the man over the head with it. With a loud, Celtic war cry, Piper, who had been right behind the prison guard, launched himself through the door and on top of another one. Soon the rest of the wrestlers jumped the rest of the men and started thrashing them hard. "HOOOOO!" Duggan bellowed at the top of his lungs, smashing two thugs at once with his two by four as they ran for the door. He whacked each of the rest of them as well as they ran out too, hitting the last one with a hard crack across the back of the head that sent him toppling head over heels down the stairs. "And don't come back if you want more of it, you dirty Commies, because I'll happily beat the tar out of you and your whole rotten empire, HOOOOOOOO!" he shouted after them.

"Well, now that you've seen the dark side of the U.S.S.R., Jim, let's take a look at the not-so dark side. Mrs. Polivinov?" Davey took Duggan's hand and looked worriedly around the apartment, "Vera?"

"In here, amigo," Tito pointed at the closet inside which the photos of the last tsar were located, from inside which frightened sniffling could be heard. The Mexican-American threw the door open, revealing a terrified Vera cradling her children close. "You!" she was far from glad to see them, however, "I told you to get out...!"

"We saw something was going on here; we felt we had to help," the British Bulldog bent down to her level, "What was going on here?"

"Standard KGB post-arrest procedure; they harrass the families of the people they arrest, make them feel like less than human," she glared at him, "They did it when my father was taken, and now, thanks to all of you...!"

"Well thanks a lot, lady; we save you, and this is what we get with gratitutde? Nice non-evil Soviets, Smith," Duggan frowned at the Bulldog, "They're all heartless..."

"Jim will you just look and listen for once!" Bret thundered at him, storming over. "Vera, 'Hacksaw' Jim Duggan; he loves America more than the next person, but sometimes it blinds him. Jim, Vera Polivinov; her husband was wrongfully arrested with Hulk last night. And these are Kostya and Marina, just two ordinary kids just like in America. These are real people, Jim, no different from any other in the West, except they just suffered injustice from the KGB last night..."

"And I've been fired too," Vera said bitterly, "When I showed up at work this morning, the foreman fired me; said someone with ties to a Western spy couldn't work there. Now I have no money at all for my children, and no future, thanks to all of you!"

She turned away from them. "Vera, listen, I know it's been extremely rough on you these last twelve hours, but it's not going to do the situation any good taking poison berries, at least in the figurative sense," the Hitman told her calmly, "I can understand you being upset at us, but we never meant to cause any trouble for you. We can still help make this better..."

"How?" she glared at him, "Viktor will be executed within the next forty-eight hours, I know it! No one will hire me, any aid will be beyond us due to his conviction...!"

She stopped as Marina started sobbing softly. "See?" she pointed at the girl, "She knows her father's never coming back, and that now we won't have any food; I had to steal from the plant to supplement what little we had here-half of what we produced was sent to the army depot across the street, and...!"

"Hey, hey, easy there, little girl," apparently, Vera's story had touched a nerve with Duggan, as he was bending down to her level with a concerned look of his own and stroked Marina's hair, "It's going to be all right, little one," he comforted her softly, "We ain't gonna let them lock your daddy up for life."

"There, you see, Jim, not every Russian is a fanatical Communist flag-waver," Bret told him firmly, "These people are as far removed from that as possible. And yes, Vera, we said we'd help and we will," he told the woman, "We've already called the U.S. Embassy, and we told them Viktor was arrested too..."

"It would make no difference," she shook her head, now looking tearful, "By the time your government would do anything, they'll have shot him..."

"Then maybe we need to take things up a notch or two," Slaughter stepped forward, having casually listened to the entire conversation. "No need to be afraid, madam," he told Vera when she recoiled at the sight of his fatigues, "I'm not with the secret police. Sergeant Bob Slaughter, U.S.M.C., retired," he extended a hand to her, although she did not shake it, "Now, I've been doing some plotting, and I think we might be able to pick up where the U.S. Embassy might come up short. Now, you'd said there was an army depot across the street from where you work?"

"USED to work," she corrected him glumly, "But yes."

"Did they take your access card to the plant?"

"No, but they wouldn't let me in now..."

"We'll see about that. It happens I'm fluent in many languages, and Russian is one of them," Slaughter in fact rambled out something in Russian that none of the wrestlers recognized, but made Vera and her children perk up in amazement. "If it's all right, I'd like you to take me over there," he told the woman, "If they think I'm part of the KGB-and I think I know how to arrange it to look like that-then I think we can set in motion a plan to get Hogan and your husband out of the gulag."

"I don't know if I should..." she looked very hesitant.

"You'd do anything for Viktor, wouldn't you?" Savage leaned over Slaughter's shoulder, "I know, because I'd do anything for Elizabeth, and you'd take any chance to make sure they're safe, right?"

Vera thought it over for a moment, then nodded softly. "Anything for Viktor," she nodded, "But I don't want to get arrested too...I can't leave Kostya and Marina alone in the world..."

"You won't get arrested, we'll fight to the death to prevent that," the Boss Man delcared, gently helping her up, "I'll go too, Sarge, just to make sure we can dish out some law and order should things go south."

"Same here," Piper stepped forward, grinning, "If this involves military action, I think I want a piece of it."

"Now Roddy, don't get too far into this," Bret cautioned him, "Caution is still the preferred route to go here."

"Indeed, Mr. Hart. I'm placing you in charge of the reconnaisance mission with Mr. Koloff," Slaughter instructed him, "We'll rendezvous here at twelve hundred hours and see where we stand from here."

"But I cannot leave Kostya and Marina here alone..." Vera protested.

"We'll watch them for you," Elizabeth volunteered, scooping both children into her arms, "Nothing's going to happen to them, Vera."

"Absolutely," Andre agreed, joining her, "We'll take good care of them."

"You sure you'll be OK here by yourself, then?" Savage had to enquire to his bride.

"Of course I will, Randy; it's you I'd be worried about," she told him.

"Well, if anyone tries to break in while we're out, don't be afraid to just kick them where it hurts," he told her, "Especially if it's Luger again..."

"Randy, we'd better get going," Bret took him by the arm, "Elizabeth will be fine like she said. Meanwhile, we don't want to be late..."

* * *

><p>"Let me just say this ain't the best idea; we could get recognized too easy," the Macho Man protested about twenty minutes later, slipping on a caterer's suit outside the back entrance to the conference center where the Soviet wrestlers were to be feted.<p>

"You've got any better ideas, pal?" Duggan inquired, slipping on a pair of dark glasses. "Sorry to have to do this to you guys," he said to the two men sitting bound and gagged in their underwear in the back of the catering truck with the other wrestlers, "But it's in the cause of freedom."

"Now remember, have your cameras ready for anything that looks suspicious," Bret informed them, fiddling with a hand radio, "Whatever we can get in conjunction with Nikita's recordings, if he can get some, will be big. Just don't blow the cover."

"We'll do our best, yeah," Savage assured him, "Well, let's get going them, Hacksaw."

A frown crossed his face as the two of them pushed a pair of catering carts through the back door. "I ain't too sure about leaving her alone, even if it's just with the kids..." he mused out loud.

"Not to intrude, Macho, but sometimes it seems like you care for a little too much," Duggan offered, "She seems to have done well enough without you at her side 24/7 in the first place..."

"I love her, Hacksaw; I worry," Savage insisted, "You heard what Luger did to her last night; who knows what else might happen when I'm not there...?"

"I think you're overreacting, Macho; we've got more chance of being recognized in here than something else going wrong with her," Duggan predicted. It was at that moment, however, as they were passing the ladies' room, that Sherri stepped out. She came to a stop, staring right at Savage. "YOU!" she roared at him.

"Shut up, witch, I'm on a...!" Savage warned her.

"GUARDS!" Sherri shrieked as loud as she could, climbing up on her former charge's back and whaling away at him, "INTRUDERS! GUARDS, IT 'S SAVAGE! GET...!"

Duggan quickly clamped a hand over her mouth, then yanked the cloth off Savage's cart and stuffed that into her mouth to silence her. "It's a wonder Macho ever bothered staying with you, you loudmouthed hag," he grumbled at her, yanking the cord off a phone nearby to bind her hands.

"Yeah, and for all her shouting that I stole from her, I ain't apologizing until I get back all the money she stole from me," Savage glared at his former manager, "Back into the bathroom with her."

"Right," Duggan dumped Sherri into the ladies' room, slammed the door shut, and pushed a table up against it to block it. The two men glanced around, but apparently no one had heard Sherri's shrieking. "That was close," the Macho Man sighed, "Let's hope she holds long enough..."

There came a loud shouting behind them. The head waiter, apparently, came running up and screamed something in their faces in Russian. Lowering his head to avoid any chance of recognition, Savage rambled out a stream of Russian-sounding gibberish, and started pushing the cart away. "Any idea what you said?" Duggan had to ask.

"Not the slightest, but I hope it was a good insult to him," Savage said. They entered the main conference room, where all the Soviet wrestlers were seated on a raised dais, just at the moment Menzhinsky was tapping his microphone next to the podium in front of the dais. "May I have your attention?" he spoke into the microphone, "Ladies and gentlemen, comrades of the press, I welcome you all to this celebratory breakfast for our great wrestling heroes of the Soviet Union. Let us begin by rising and singing our national anthem together to the glory of the Motherland."

Everyone in the room rose up and started singing in unison. Duggan's fists clenched, and his face contorted with rage. "Calm, calm," Savage squeezed his shoulder, "We can't do this if you blow up; just like Elizabeth said last night..."

"I hate that song, I hate that song...!" Duggan jammed his hands over his ears to block the Soviet anthem out. Fortuitously, the song lasted less than an minute. "That felt good," Menzhinsky declared to the group once they had finished and applauded each other, "Now, assembled before us today are some of the best of the Soviet Union's wrestlers," he gestured at everyone on the dais, which included the Koloffs, "In a few moments, we shall be awarding them the medals they have earned. First, however, I have the announcement for all of you that haven't heard it yet: last night, the American dog Hogan was arrested by our great and noble police for murder. As he will be held until such time as he can be brought forth for trial, he has therefore through his criminal actions forfeited tonight's match to his opponent, and therefore by default annointed as the new world wrestling champion, our very own Comrade Nikolai Volkoff," he stepped over and raised Volkoff's hand high to loud applause. "Listen to this rubbish!" Duggan muttered disgustedly, gripping his cart's handles tightly, "I ought to shut them all up...!"

"Hey, we're observing and listening, remember!" Savage begged him, laying a coffee cake in front of an important-looking man at another table and babbling some more gibberish towards him. "Comrade Volkoff, in a little while, we shall be retrieving the world title belt from Hogan's possession so it can be presented fairly to you at the conclusion of this afternoon's Summit Series," Menzhinsky told Volkoff, whose chest was swelling with pride, "To all the viewers out there, how does it feel to have finally reached the top of the mountain?"

"Let me answer that first, pal," Blassie took the microphone off him. "Let me just say, for all you Ruskies out there who can understand what I'm saying," he looked straight into the camera, "I was fooled by Hulk Hogan at first myself, so I know how good it is to see him fall at last. I thought he was going to be the best there ever was. But then he turned on me, ruined my shot at the gold, and then when I did finally get it, stole it off the very-deserving Sheik here," he pointed to the Iranian in the chair next to him, "Well, Hogan, what goes around comes around, and you're going to be serving hard time for a long time."

"But I thought you said Comrade Yermakov said he was going to kill Hogan off the moment the belt was in our hands, Comrade Blassie?" Volkoff asked, confused.

"What?" Duggan turned pale, "Kill Hulk...?"

"Ooooooooh boy," Savage looked numb himself at this revelation. Blassie quickly clamped a hand over Volkoff's mouth. "I said keep quiet on that, you idiot, or the U.S. government might just force them to let him out!" he whispered furiously into his charge's ear. "Uh, for all you at home, Nikolai was just kidding there, of course," he hastily said into the camera, "I know as much as you do that your government and police would never harm a hair on anyone's head..."

"You lying parasite!" Savage clenched his teeth in disgust, "How can you support their terroristical policies?"

"And I'll say a word about Hogan too," Volkoff now rose up (as Blassie sat back down and mumbled out loud to his fellow managers, "Where the hell'd Martel get to? A bathroom break doesn't take this long."). "Hogan epitomized everything decadent and pathetic about the American people," the Russian declared contemptuously, "He was a pompous, arrogant, cheating, conniving dog, who hogged the title and kept truly worthy persons like myself from having it. Like all Americans, he rolls around in money he didn't earn, warmongers against Mother Russia, cheats whenever possible, and acts like pompous, arrogant bourgeois stooge. It is devine justice we set him up for murder; he is too stupid to figure out Pyotr was..."

Looking pale, Blassie yanked his charge back down into his seat. "YOU IDIOT; THIS IS GOING ALL OVER THE WORLD, AND YOU JUST GAVE THE WORLD A CONFESSION WE FRAMED HOGAN!" he hissed murderously at Volkoff. "Ah, Nikolai was just joking again, everyone," he quickly apologized into the camera, "He was just saying that Hogan was so stupid, he thought he could get away with it unscathed."

He laughed uncomfortably to try and force home the image of a joke. Duggan and Savage exchanged excited glances. "I can't believe he actually gave the smoking gun right to us," the former proclaimed softly.

"But do we got it?" Savage's eyes turned to Nikita, who shook off his own surprised expression that Volkoff had essentially just blurted out a spontaneous confession and gave the Macho Man a subtle thumbs-up. "Ooooooh yeah, he got it," Savage nodded, "Let's get out of here and get the American embassy on the line, yeah; they can..."

"Wait, what's that idiot doing now?" Duggan was frowning, seeing Volkoff now walking over to a large pile in the corner of the conference room covered with a sheet. "...tonight, the stupid bourgeois American children will go to sleep dreaming of fat, ugly, bearded capitalist gift-bringing Claus, who flies through air in sleigh to give bribes to children to continue following evil capitalist path," he was ranting, pulling off the sheet to reveal a pile of Christmas presents, Hulk merchandising, and a few American flags, "In America, when they have had enough of music, they blow it up in sport stadiums. In honor of Mother Russia's final triumph over American dog Hogan, it is honor to do the same now and kill Hulkamania and Christmas, plus drive stake into America itself. Are charges ready?" he asked a man in coveralls behind it.

"All set, Comrade Volkoff, but I wouldn't advise..." the man tried to dissuade him.

"Nonsense, what could go wrong? All right," Volkoff trotted to a large plunger in the middle of the dais, "All together, let us debase false American holiday together: three, two, one, CHRISTMAS ROTS! CHRISTMAS ROTS! CHRISTMAS ROTS!"

He pressed down on the plunger, and the pile exploded in a large fireball, taking out half the wall with it. The building's fire alarm went off, followed by the sprinklers activating. "All together, grab nearest presents and burn them up: CHRISTMAS ROTS! CHRISTMAS ROTS!" Volkoff grabbed another large stack and flung them onto the flames. Following up his chant, several other guests did the same, even as frantic officials ran into the room, panicked at the blaze, which was starting to fill the room with smoke. "Come on, now!" Savage tried to drag Duggan off, "we got a smokescreen; let's use it...!"

"Oh no, he will not...!" Duggan's eyes were wide with rage as Menzhinsky, now chanting, "CHRISTMAS ROTS! CHRISTMAS ROTS!" himself, callously flung a larger American flag onto the bonfire, where it quickly caught fire. "All right, that does it: HOOOOOOOOOO!" rage plastered all over his face, Duggan grabbed the nearest cup of coffee on his tray, charged towards Menzhinsky, and poured the steaming hot coffee down the Soviet athletic director's pants. Menzhinsky's scream of agony immediately stopped the chanting by the Russians, whose heads swung towards him in unison. "You idiot, you're blowing the cover...!" Savage tried to dissuade him.

"HOOOOO!" clearly not caring in the least, Duggan pulled his two by four from under the cart and swung a wild blow at Menzhinsky who just ducked in time. Two guards grabbed him and tried to wrestle him still. "Who are you, you wrecker?" one demanded.

"Wait a minute," the Sheik rose up in his seat, squinting hard at Duggan, "That looks a lot like..."

The door to the room slammed open. "There they are, Jim Duggan and Randy Savage!" a now free and furious Sherri, flanked by a pair of guards with machine guns, pointed a cold finger at the two men, "Get them!"

"Kill the American spies!" Menzhinsky ordered the guards, who rapidly cocked their rifles and aimed them at Savage and Duggan...


	8. Chapter 8

In a flash, Duggan dove behind the nearest table and shoved it sideways into a makeshift shield for Savage and himself just as the shots started ringing out. "Hey, Macho, it's bulletproof," he mused as they started backing away towards the door, "Must be thicker wood than usual."

"Just like in the movies, yeah; anything the good guys get behind becomes automatically bulletproof-not that I'm complaining, of course," Savage pointed out, "Still, gotta get out of here before the rest of the KGB shows up."

"Well, no problem there," Duggan noticed a window at the end of the hall. With another loud (and rather unnecessary given the circumstances) "HOOOOOOOOO!" he raced towards the window and dove through it with a shower of glass. "Oh well," Savage shrugged, shoving the table towards the approaching guards and diving out the window himself. "You're lucky we're on the first floor, or this would have been really dumb," he told Duggan as they scrambled around towards the back of the convention center. "What's going on?" a concerned Bret was looking out the open back doors of the catering truck, "You two didn't set off the alarm, did...?"

"Long story, Hitman; drive!" Savage shouted to Steamboat at the wheel, who immediately floored it the moment he and Duggan had dove into the back of the truck. "We actually didn't need to take any photos," the Macho Man explained, "Volkoff blurted out a spontaneous confession on worldwide TV."

"Full on, full tilt confession, just like the dope he is," Duggan added, "The U.S. Embassy'll have Hulk sprung in no time now."

"Ain't you forgetting what they said?" Savage raised an eyebrow, "How they were going to off him to make sure...?"

Everyone in the truck gasped. "Then we probably don't have time for the embassy to get him out," the Hitman mused, concerned, "If Volkoff confessed by accident like you said, they may speed up killing him off. We may have to rely on whatever Slaughter's plan is."

* * *

><p>"Come on, Sarge, where are you?" Steamboat mumbled nervously, pacing around in circles inside the Polivinovs' apartment. Almost half an hour had gone by past the time Slaughter had said he'd return, but still no sign of him or everyone who's gone with him.<p>

"Never mind Sarge, where's Koloff with that tape?" Duggan looked grim as he paced too, "Like I said, he might be double-crossing us..."

But it was at that moment that there was a knock on the door. "It is I," came Nikita's voice.

"Are you alone?" Davey hesitantly pressed himself against the door.

"Yes, I am," came the answer. The British Bulldog glanced out the window to make sure, but there was no one else visible outside. "You have the tape?" he asked, opening the door.

"Right here, with Volkoff's confession," Nikita handed the tape recorder to him, looking grim, "I also got Comrade Menzhinsky afterwards calling the gulag to say they were sending someone over to pick up Hogan's title belt before they shot him..."

"And that will be us," came Ivan's furious voice from the stairs. Nikita gulped and turned to see his uncle stomping up the stairs, three at a time, looking livid. "Uncle Ivan, how'd...where'd...?" he stammered to say something.

"What is the meaning of this, Nikita?" Ivan demanded, seizing hold of the tape recorder from his nephew, "I saw you sneak out of the convention center and followed you here; how could you consort with Russia's enemies?" he gestured contemptuously at the Western wrestlers.

"Now wait a minute, pal...!" Duggan bellowed, incensed.

"Let me handle this, Jim," Bret stepped forward, "Mr. Koloff, we know Hulk Hogan is innocent of murder; we just..."

"Lying bourgeois dogs!" Ivan screamed at him, "It's not enough you have to kill my janitor, now you brainwash my own nephew to do your bidding! What did they give you to force you to betray Mother Russia, Nikita?" he leaned into his nephew's face, "Mind control drugs, tranquilizers...?"

"Nothing, Uncle Ivan. And Hogan is innocent; I know it as well," Nikita protested, "Why can't you...?"

"I see. They went the extra mile to warp your mind. Well, nobody does that to my nephew, the pride of the Soviet Union. And you Western pigs can forget about getting Hogan out!" Ivan slammed the tape recorder to the floor and stamped down on it until it was hopelessly smashed. "He is dead within the next hour, and there's nothing you or your worthless government can do to stop us!" he gloated at the stunned Western wrestlers, "Come Nikita," he took his nephew firmly by the arm and dragged him roughly towards the door, "After we get your mind cleared out from whatever they drugged you with, we've been authorized to pick up Hogan's belt and deliver it to Volkoff; the whole country is waiting for his and Russia's moment of glory."

"But Uncle Ivan...!" Nikita stammered for something to say, but got nothing out as he was dragged away up the alley. The other wrestlers stared glumly at the smashed tape recorder. "Now what do we do?" Tito spoke for all of them, "How do we get concrete evidence now?"

There was silence for a moment. "Hang on," Elizabeth spoke up from the corner, where she'd been playing checkers with Kostya and Marina previously, "You had said the Russian TV programs were recording the speech, Randy?"

"Yeah, and?"

"Well, it stands to reason those same crews will be at the stadium to film the Summit Series," she pointed out, "And, they'd probably still have the tapes with them..."

"So we just get it off them," Andre snapped his fingers, "We come up with something..."

"Not in time to get Hulk out, though," Davey shook his head, "We need some way to..."

Just then there came a loud blaring sound from the alley. "Now what?" the Bulldog rushed to the window again. "Oh my," he exclaimed. His teammates rushed to join him and saw what he did: a giant tracked truck moving up the alley towards the apartment complex. "Hey!" Piper, now wearing Highland facial war paint, waved from the top of the truck, "We have returned!"

"Well I'll be," Bret mused. He led the rush down the stairs. "Roddy, where'd you get this thing?" he asked loudly, approaching the truck.

"Oh, the skeleton staff at the army depot was quite glad to lend it to us after a little persuading," Piper grinned.

"We're ruined!" a miserable Vera lamented inside the cab, "They'll execute us now too for breaking and entering...!"

"Madam, we'll be just fine. Now, you just take these tickets," Slaughter, seated next to her, handed her a set of them, "and go have a seat in the front row at the stadium; they can't get you there in front of the eyes of the world. We'll be there soon with your husband."

"But it's thirty kilometers outside Moscow, and no one ever escapes from the gulag...!"

"What's this thing, Sarge?" Savage asked the former drill sergeant with raised eyebrows, interrupting Vera's protests.

"A special prototype attack vehicle they were building at the depot," the Boss Man answered the question for Slaughter, hopping down from the driver's seat, "Part of the Russians' newest technology for the arms race. We figured it might come in handy in case we needed to go in for Hulk..."

"Well, looks like we're going to," Duggan related everything he and Savage had heard at the celebratory banquet. "Then we have no choice," a determined look crossed Slaughter's face once Duggan had finished, "We're going into their detention facility and busting Hogan out."

"Wait, think over what you're saying, Sergeant," Elizabeth looked worried, "You can't seriously be suggesting we charge head-on into a Soviet prison...!"

"Of course not, Liz; we got some bulletproof vests from the depot too, enough for everyone," Piper tossed several down to street level.

"Roddy, they're going to have heavy arms there, without question!" she still wasn't convinced, "And we don't want to set off an international incident; suppose this rebounds badly on the U.S...!"

"They may have arms, but we have an experimental supermagnet," Piper tapped a large device set up on the back of the vehicle with a wide smile, "Powerful enough to disarm anyone within a hundred yards, I'll wager."

"And besides, don't worry about blowback, because I don't care what the Ruskies do-no offense," Duggan raised a hand at the Polivinovs, "As long as justice is done, and we get Hulk back in time for the match with Volkoff..."

"Uh, problem there, Jim; I don't think we have the time," Davey was frowning as he examined his watch, "The Summit Series starts in a little under an hour; if the prison's thirty kilometers outside Moscow, I don't think we'd be able to get in, get Hulk and Viktor out, and get to Central Lenin in time..."

"Then we'll just have to make the time. You and Tito stall in your matches as much as you can," Bret told his brother-in-law and the Mexican-American, "Make them last as long as you can; don't get pinned or counted out, and don't pin Pietrov and the Sheik unless you absolutely have to. Also, make sure Vera and the kids are safely in the front row where the KGB can't grab them without being seen on international TV, and then see if you can find someone on a TV crew who has tape footage of Volkoff's confession earlier."

The cameras had these ID numbers on them," Duggan pulled out a spare piece of paper, wrote down the Cyrillic letters in question, and handed the paper to Davey. "Well, we'll do what we can, then," the British Bulldog nodded, looking a little down nonetheless, "Shame I can't go along, though; if we're successful, it would be nice to tell Harry with pride how I helped do it..."

"Well, if you can stall enough and get the tapes, trooper, that'll be a good enough contribution. All right, maggots, gather around," Slaughter spread a large map on the assault vehicle's hood, "I've devised a plan of action from the ifnormation obtained from the depot personnel..."

"Already?" Andre was amazed.

"In the Marine Corps, Mr. Rousimoff, we live to plan ahead for any mission," Slaughter informed him. "Especially since we'll need to move before depot security catches up with this baby. Now," he gestured everyone forward, "Here's what we're going to do..."


	9. Chapter 9

"Hogan, Polivinov, on your feet," General Yermakov barked as he approached their cell, "Your situation has been finalized."

"Well it's about time, dude," Hulk snorted, standing up once the cell door was unlocked, "Now you can see how we...!"

"It's not what you think, Mr. Hogan," Viktor had turned very white, "We're of no further use to them...this means the firing squad...!"

"Firing squad! Now wait a minute, you!" Hulk demanded to Yermakov, "This is going too far! I demand to have a talk with my lawyer, and...!"

"You'll have nothing!" Yermakov slapped him across the face again, "Except the stream of bullets that all criminals deserve! To the firing range with them!" he ordered his guards, who dragged Hulk and Viktor out of the cell and up the hall. "You won't get away with this!" the world champion continued bellowing, "If I die, you'll be guilty of bringing a major international incident on Russia!"

"I don't care what the bourgeois capitalist governments think," Yermakov brushed him off, "And don't bother resisting, Hogan; no one will save you."

* * *

><p>"I don't like this," Duggan mused worriedly, glancing through a set of binoculars on top of the hill in the woods above the prison camp, "Looks like they're getting ready for something down there."<p>

"Let me take a look, trooper," Slaughter took the binoculars off him and stared down at the camp. "Yep, looks like preparations for an execution," he grimly ascertained, taking note of guards loading up their rifles in front of what was clearly a firing squad wall. "All right, troops," he turned back to the rest of his "command," "We'll have to forego any attempts at subterfuge and try a full-on frontal assault."

"Hold on, you mean plow right in there?" Steamboat was frowning, "No offense, Sarge, but even with a supermagnet..."

"I love it, Sarge; lock and load, everyone," looking thrilled, Piper started handing out rotten pies, cakes, and other pastries scavenged from Vera's bakery. "Shame we can't use real ammo to blow the joint up," he looked rather diasppointed.

"Roddy, I said already, I want no blood; we can't stoop to their level," Bret reminded him, handing up several canisters of jam.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, Hartsie; we've got to stay on the high and mighty," the Scotsman looked unconvinced, "At least these bulletproof vests'll come in handy," he tapped at the one under his coat before shoving some jam cannisters down the breech of the assault vehicle's enormous main gun, "And at least all this rotten food'll be good for something."

"Shame they waste so much food there at the bakery through poor storage," Elizabeth looked with regret at the maggot-ridden pies in her hand before handing them up to the Boss Man to load into another gun, "When half the country is starving, the least they could do is make all the food better. Oh well, like Roddy says, at least this way, it won't go completely to waste. Now if we can get in and out in one piece..."

"You're not worried, are you, Private Hulette?" Slaughter raised an eyebrow at her.

"No, but it's just...you may be a well-traveled and honored military man, Sergeant; I'm just a small town girl from Kentucky who had a fondness for wrestling as a girl; getting involved in the Cold War was never anything I had in my plans," she admitted.

"Don't worry; the Marine Corps motto is never leave a man-or woman-behind," Slaughter assured her.

"And we certainly don't leave them behind dead either; she ain't gonna be in harm's way at all," Savage said firmly, sliding alongside his wife and whispering, "Just stay on the cab floor once we're in; I don't want any bullets flying at you. But if any of them break into the cab, just kick them in the nuts and yell like crazy; I'll take it from there."

Looking more than a little nervous about what was now eminent, Elizabeth nodded and quickly slid into the cab. "Speed it up, you guys; I think they're about to line up Hulk in front of the wall," Duggan gulped, staring intently through his binoculars into the prison.

"Private Traylor, start her up; we're going in in T minus two minutes," Slaughter ordered the Boss Man, who promptly leaped into the driver's seat and turned the key in the ignition. Looking like he was on top of the world, Slaughter clambered up to the assault truck's upper deck. "Private Piper, prepare to fire some warning shots into their perimeter to add some cover," he ordered the Scotsman.

"You got it, Sarge," Piper eagerly started cranking the main gun up into position, "Radar...about to be...jammed..."

* * *

><p>"Terry 'Hulk' Hogan, you have been convicted of first degree murder against a citizen of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics," Yermakov grimly read out the execution order to his two prisoners, who were being handcuffed to posts in front of the firing squad wall before the troop of six armed executioners, "Viktor Alexeevich Polivinov, you have been convicted of treason against the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, harboring its enemies and helping further their cause. The sentence for each of your crimes is death by firing squad. Have either of you any last words?"<p>

"I regret that I have only one life to give for my country," Hulk snarled defiantly, "And God bless America."

He spit once more at Yermakov's feet. "You?" the KGB general asked Viktor, who lowered his head and started sniffing in fear. "Very well. Blindfolds or cigarettes?" he asked his prisoners.

"Go to hell," Hulk barked at him.

"Indeed you will, Hogan you swine," came Ivan's taunting voice to the champion. The Russian Bear was striding towards him, the world championship belt in hand and Nikita, his head hung low, in tow. "This is going to a true champion now, not like you," Ivan mocked him, waving the belt in Hulk's face, "Now at last, you will learn that Mother Russia is invincible."

"You're no better than Volkoff, Koloff," Hulk snarled, "You disgrace real Russians, and the...!"

"Enough," Yermakov slapped him once more and waved Ivan out of the path of the firing squad, then stepped out of harm's way himself. Hulk took a deep breath, hoping for a last minute Christmas miracle. But it didn't appear imminent as the firing squad cocked their guns. "Ready!" Yermakov barked at them, "Aim...!"

Suddenly, a loud shrieking sound rang out in the air. "What is this!" Yermakov glanced skyward, worried. Hulk saw it too: a bright light arcing straight into the prison camp, slamming into the ground inches away from the firing squad and exploding in a blast of red, sending the would-be executioners running in panic. Another salvo slammed to the bottom of a watch tower, followed by a third that painted several prison trucks red. Yermakov crawled over to where the first projectile had landed and sniffed at it. "Jam!" he exclaimed out loud. "Regain your cool!" he shouted to any guards within earshot, "We're being attacked by jam...!"

But his words fell moot as, with a loud crash, a huge vehicle slammed through the prison's front gates. "Destroy it; destroy that thing!" Yermakov roared at anyone who wasn't running away in panic. The firing squad took aim and fired away at the giant truck as it slid to a halt in the middle of the courtyard, as did the guards on the watchtowers and a few stragglers on the ground. But then, a flash of lights and then a low hum burst up on the top of the truck, and in seconds, the guards were crying out in unison as their guns were abruptly pulled out of their hands and flew through the air, attaching the to truck's supermagnet. "No, no, no!" Ivan shrieked, pulling hard on the world championship belt to keep it from the same fate, but it too flew away and slammed into the magnet.

"Look out, Ruskies, here comes the Hacksaw to cut you down! HOOOOOOOO!" Duggan dove off the top of the truck, flattening the nearest guard with a two by four chop to the head. With another overly loud Celtic war cry, Piper also dove off on top of another guard, as did Steamboat, who flattened several rushing at him with a quick series of karate moves, which provided convenient cover for Andre and the Boss Man to slip through a nearby door practically undetected. The rest of the team fired off various weapons, loaded with the rotten pastries and other unusual projectiles at the guards still standing. The supermagnet continued humming and attracting every piece of metal in the courtyard, including the belt buckles on the guards, whose pants were soon falling down almost in unison; indeed, the watchtowers were now also starting to sway visibly. And Hulk felt his handcuffs being pulled away; indeed they snapped clean off his wrists in a flash, as did Viktor's. Come on, brother, let's move!" he took the apartment manager's wrist and started to run.

"Oh no you don't! Igor, Georgy!" Yermakov shouted to the two hulking guards, who grabbed the two men around the waist before they could get far. "Break their necks!" the KGB general shouted, futilely trying to grab hold of his medals as they flew away from his grasp towards the magnet.

"HOOOOO!" Duggan rushed the two guards and nailed them with a two by four shot each. Unfortunately, he didn't see Yermakov pull out a smaller gun, cup his hands around it to avoid it getting pulled away, and take aim at him until he turned and saw the barrel pointed right at his face...

...at which point the KGB general was bonked on the head from behind with an enormous plank of wood, sending him down to the ground. Duggan's eyes shot upwards to see Nikita standing over Yermakov, holding the plank. "You...?" he was amazed.

"NOW do you trust me?" Nikita flung the plank towards the nearest door, bowling over several more guards trying to rush out and join the fight. There came a loud crash as the supermagnet finally pulled over one of the watchtowers, sending it crashing hard to the ground, the men on top barely jumping to the ground in time. And then, there came another loud shout from another nearby doorway. "No!" a dazed Yermakov shouted from the ground, seeing numerous prisoners pouring out the door, very much free, "No, not a jailbreak now!"

He frantically dug through his pockets for something else, but Slaughter's foot came down on his chest, pinning down the hand. "Don't even think about it, maggot," the former drill sergeant warned him. He reached into Yermakov's pocket himself, pulled out the hand grenade he'd been going for, pulled the pin, and tossed it into the nearest wall, which promptly had a large hole blown in it. Another swarm of prisoners barrelled through it, overwhelming most of the rest of the guards still on their feet and rushing for the gate-and some for the trucks by the gate. In the middle of the swarm, Andre and the Boss Man reappeared, grinning. They rushed over to where Slaughter was standing. "Mission accomplished, Sarge," the former prison guard told the former Marine with a smile, "The oppressed are being freed at the moment, as you can see."

"Good work, Private Traylor; the Marines' motto is never leave any man behind, especially prisoners," Slaughter glowered down at the dazed Yermakov, "This is our guy."

"Is he now?" the Boss Man's expression darkened as he drew his handcuffs and slapped them on Yermakov, "Well, boy, you're going to give us a full confession on everything by the time we get to the stadium!"

"I know nothing; I'm just a low level man!" Yermakov insisted defiantly, "You'll never get anything out of me!"

"Oh I don't know about that," Andre, grinning, hefted the KGB general clean off the ground and hauled him towards one of the trucks not being commendeered by escapees, "I think you'll have plenty to tell me during the ride..."

With another loud crash, another watchtower fell over. Prison vehicles now filled with escapees were barrelling out the prison gate to freedom, in spite of the few standing guards shooting away at them. With a roar of its engine, the oversized assault vehicle lurched towards the gate itself, the magnet still humming loudly. "Hey, don't leave without us!" Hulk shouted at his teammates. "Come on, dude, we're getting out of here," he took Viktor by the arm and rushed after the truck, Slaughter and Duggan in tow. The remaining guards were too busy trying to catch the escapees still streaming all over the compound to pay them any attention. But just as they reached the threshhold of the gate and liberty...

"Oh no you don't!" Ivan suddenly jumped in front of them, a machine gun in hand and a cruel look on his face. "Mother Russia WILL have the world title, Hogan, and that means you die to make sure of it!" he roared, cocking the gun, which was too far away from the supermagnet to be affected by it, and aiming it right at Hulk's face...

"Stop!" from out of nowhere from behind, Nikita quickly jumped in front of the world champion, blocking the shot. "Stand aside, Nikita!" Ivan ordered his nephew with a strong wave of the hand.

"No!" Nikita folded his arms across his chest in defiance.

"I said stand aside, Nikita! I don't care how much they brainwashed you, you cannot stop the triumph of the socialist...!"

"Then you'll have to shoot me, Uncle Ivan!" his nephew shouted at him, making Ivan stop in shock, "If the triumph of Communism is more important than my life, then go ahead and pull the trigger, but Hulk Hogan is innocent, and human conscience forbids letting an innocent man die! So what will it be, Uncle Ivan?"

"Nikita...!" stunned, Ivan's hands wavered on the machine gun, "How...why...after everything I've done for you to further your career...!"

"And I'm grateful for that and everything you've done for me, Uncle Ivan," Nikita put a sympathetic hand on his uncle's shoulder, "You've been like a father to me, and I love you like a father. But you are wrong with all this," he pointed at the machine gun, "And I'm doing this because I don't want to see you become something terrible. General Yermakov and Comrade Menzhinsky's scheme's over, history, kaput. The world title should be decided fairly, Uncle Ivan, not like this," he gestured at the prison camp behind them, "So what will it be? Perfect Communist ideals, or fair play?"

For a moment, Ivan stared straight into his nephew's face. Then, with a sad sigh, he lowered his head and the machine gun. "Thank you, Uncle Ivan; you are still a true man," Nikita commended him proudly.

"All right then, troopers; Moscow awaits!" Slaughter shouted, rushing along with Duggan towards the assault vehicle, which had briefly stopped to allow the stragglers to catch up. "Come, quickly," Nikita took Hulk's hand and dragged him towards the rear bumper. They grabbed hold of the hand railings and pulled themselves up, leaving a sad Ivan behind at the gate to mumble, "Nikita, my boy, what will it take for us to see eye to eye again?" "Well, how does it feel to be free again, champ?" Savage asked his fellow Mega Power once he was on top of the truck (Nikita still hanging on to the rear bumper). He didn't let Hulk immediately answer, instead firing a few final stale pies out of one of the long guns backwards at a handful of guards running futilely after them and the truck the Boss Man and Andre were taking Yermakov along in, which was barrelling along the road behind them now.

"Never felt better, Randy, never felt better," Hulk pulled the world championship belt off the supermagnet and clasped it into place around his waist, "Glad to have this piece of gold back too."

"That's all?" Savage raised his eyebrows, "Not a word of thanks for your partner in the Mega Powers helping to get you out of this...?"

"Oh Hulk, we were all worried sick they were going to kill you in there," Elizabeth climbed up to the top as well and threw her arms around the champion in relief (which sent Savage's eyebrows shooting up even higher), "Did they hurt you bad in there?"

"They gave me their worst, but I'm still standing," Hulk declared firmly, "Now I just want to give Volkoff the soundest thrashing of his career in honor of every single American citizen."

"That's the easy part probably, yeah; I just hope the weather holds for the next thirty miles so we can get there," Savage glanced up at the snowflakes now falling quite hard. "Viktor old pal, good to see you're OK too," he told their host, slapping his hand.

"Vera and the kids...?" Viktor had to ask.

"Perfectly all right, and they'll probably be waiting in the front row at the stadium for you when we arrive, yeah," the Macho Man assured him, "Sarge gave them tickets so they'd be in front of the cameras and the KGB wouldn't harrass them till we got you out, yeah."

"We'll try and get you both there as fast as possible, Hulk, Viktor," Bret leaned up from the gun emplacement (now dripping with raspberry sauce) right below the champion, "I just hope Tito and Davey bought us enough time to keep Volkoff from being declared champion by default..."


	10. Chapter 10

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Real American lyrics are trademarked by their respective copyright holders.

* * *

><p>"Hold still, you stupid British boob!" the Sheik bellowed, chasing Davey around the ring. The British Bulldog ducked under the Iranian's attempted clothesline, slid out of the ring, raced a quarter of the way around, then rolled back in and kicked the Sheik in the face to hold him at bay. Groaning, the Sheik stumbled over to Blassie. "This is ridiculous, Freddie; why won't he fight me like a man?" he complained.<p>

"He's a coward, Sheiky; he's always been," the Classy One rolled his eyes in disgust, "Well, I know how to fix this. Get him over this way."

"Right," the Sheik rolled into the ring. Blassie checked his watch impatiently. The match had gone on for close to forty minutes now, with Davey hardly landing any blows, and leading the Sheik on a merry chase in and out of the ring, staying out just long enough each time to avoid a countout. But now, he was going to give the British Bulldog a taste of his own medicine.

He stepped down into a crouching position and watched the Sheik kick Davey's legs out from under him, dive out of the ring and run in his manager's direction. "Yeah, that's it, follow him out," Blassie mumbled under his breath, raising his cane. Once the Sheik turned the corner, he shouted, "Down!" and walloped Davey hard in the chest with the cane once the Sheik had hit the deck. He added another cane shot to the head for good measure, then rolled the British Bulldog into the ring. "Cover, now!" he ordered the Sheik, who dove through the ropes and hooked the leg to get a three count. "Finally!" Blassie exclaimed out loud, exasperated, "That was the longest unnecessary match I've ever had! Let's go," he waved the Sheik out of the ring.

"Shut up you mutt!" the Sheik snapped at a barking Mathilda before sliding out of the ring and following his manager through the cheering crowds into the tunnel. "Good work, Comrade Blassie," Menzhinsky commended him and the Sheik on the other side, "Now the Soviet Union is tied with America for the Summit Series cup; Volkoff's default victory well clinch it."

"And for all you people have done for us, we're glad to give it to you," Blassie glanced around, "Where's Nikolai...?"

"Coming, Comrade Blassie," Volkoff sounded slurred as he stumbled out of the locker room, visibly intoxicated. "Nikolai, what did I tell you about getting drunk before matches?" Blassie upbraided him.

"We tried to stop him, Freddie, but he smuggled in vodka without us knowing," Perfect was shaking his head as he and Flair exited the locker room behind Volkoff.

"Besides, I don't think that victory tour we went on all day where he had full access to liquor helped," the Nature Boy added.

"I'm not surprised," snorted an sarcastic voice from around the corner, "People under your control tend to be completely out of control, Freddie."

"Care to say that again?" furious, Blassie dragged the rotund figure of Captain Lou Albano around the corner, "I think that describes you to the T as well, Albano...!"

"My men play by the rules, at least these days; as you may have noted, my U.S. Express won their match earlier by the book," Captain Lou said firmly, glaring in Blassie's face, "And while I may have been a louse myself for so long..."

"You're not just a louse, Albano, you're a sellout and a traitor!" Blassie ripped into him, "I thought you were someone I could trust, but then you stabbed me and my good friend the Grand Wizard-God rest his soul-in the back by going soft!"

"OK Freddie, you want to play hardball, I can play hardball!" Captain Lou pulled himself away and screamed at Blassie, "You and the Wizard were cheating cowards from day one, and it's my own stupidity that I hung out with the both of you for so long. But I was lucky; I saw the light, and I got away and reformed while I had the chance. Now, through the U.S. Express and everyone else I manage today, I think I'm more of a man that I was when I..."

"You're a subhuman slug, Albano, plain and simple, and, like I said, a traitor!" Blassie screamed back, "And one day...!"

"It's time to go, Comrade Blassie," Menzhinsky told him, waving an honor guard of Soviet troops, each bearing arms and the Soviet flag, forward towards the tunnel.

"Right, right. Nikolai, suck it up and try and look sober," Blassie started towards his charge-then abruptly turned and bashed an unsuspecting Albano over the head with his cane. "And some day, I'll do worse than that, Albano, because that's what happens to traitors!" he snarled at his former friend, "Sheik, come on, you're his second, remember?"

"Coming, Freddie," the Sheik was slipping on his headdress and a coat. "Straight line, Nikolai, just walk out to the ring in a straight line, and all will be well," he told his partner, handing Volkoff another Soviet flag and placing a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

"And don't worry, all of you; Hogan's safely in the gulag, with the championship belt coming our way real soon; this is our victory lap at last, WOOOOOO!" Flair shouted in celebration.

"Of course, Ric. All right, Nikolai, let's go out for your moment of glory," Blassie told his charge proudly, nonetheless rolling his eyes as Volkoff drunkenly belched out loud. He stepped into position behind the honor guard, who snapped to attention and shouldered their rifles, then at their captain's command marched out the tunnel towards the ring while patriotic Russian music blared over the stadium's loudspeakers. Blassie fell into line with Volkoff behind them (with the Sheik bringing up the rear), smiling at the tremendous ovation they were getting from the crowd. "Finally, people who appreciate me," he mumbled out loud, "Maybe I ought to move here after I retire."

"We'd make sure you have a good retirement apartment and pension then, Comrade Blassie," Volkoff told him, managing despite his hangover to hold the Soviet flag high to more cheers. He climbed up to the top rope once they reached the ring (which was being surrounded by the honor guard) and waved it wildly to even more cheers-before drunkenly toppling off the ropes to the mat. Blassie rolled his eyes again. But at least Hogan wasn't going to ruin the moment this time. Now if only the belt would arrive for Volkoff in the next few minutes...

He smiled grandly as he approached the center of the ring, waving for the ring announcer to give him the microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen of the Soviet Union," he announced out loud, staring right at but not recognizing the glum-looking Polivinovs in the front row, "Will you all please rise and sing along with your great national hero and newly crowned world champion Nikolai Volkoff as he sings the Soviet National Anthem for all of you."

The ring announcer repeated the request in Russian before handing it to Volkoff, who belched loudly into it before starting a proud, if slurred, rendition of the Soviet anthem. Blassie removed his own hat, planted it to his chest, and started singing along himself as well. It was definitely his finest hour, he knew, and in moments, the world championship would officially be his...

"Say, Freddie, you hear something?" the Sheik abruptly raised his hand, frowning. Blassie stopped singing and listened hard. And, in the distance, from the tunnel, something could in fact be heard. He rubbed his ears; it couldn't be what it sounded like. But there it was again, now louder: _"...when it comes crashing down and it hurts inside, you've got to take a stand; it don't help to hide..."_

"No, it can't be," he shook his head firmly, "It's got to be my imagination..."

_"...if you hurt my friends, then you hurt my pride,"_ it came louder still, "_I've got to be a man; I can't let it slide..." _

"What's happening here?" the Sheik was starting to look worried. It was at that moment that a stream of panicked-looking Soviet soldiers ran out the tunnel, screaming. Seconds later, the entire facade of the tunnel collapsed as a large vehicle plowed into the stadium, the music blaring louder than ever: _"I am a real American; fight for the rights of every man. I am a real American; fight for what's right, fight for your life..." _

"NO!" Blassie shrieked at the top of his lungs, unable to mistake the figure wearing the world championship belt standing up now on top of the vehicle, waving an American flag proudly and defiantly to the silent, stunned stadium, "IT'S NOT POSSIBLE! HE'S IN THE DAMN GULAG!"

"I feel strong about right and wrong," Hulk started singing his theme as well loud enough to be heard in the ring, "And I don't take trouble for very long. I've got something deep inside of me; courage is the thing that keeps us free..."

"I am a real American; fight for the rights of every man..." everyone else on the huge truck joined in with him, even those holding the British, Canadian, Scottish, French, and Mexican flags. "Hey, what's going on?" Volkoff blinked drunkenly at the approaching vehicle.

"What's going on is we're screwed, Nikolai!" the Sheik lamented, shaking his head as Hulk leaped off the truck as it slid to a stop at the edge of the aisle, hopped up to the ring apron, and defiantly ripped the HULK RULES T-shirt he'd slipped on over his coat clean through before raising and waving the American flag once more. Viktor also hopped down, a wide smile spreading on his face. "Vera!" he cried to his wife in the front row, who shrieked in delight to see him, leaped over the barricades, and flung herself into his arms. "Oh, I thought I'd never see you again: Kostya, Marina, I missed you all this time..." he scooped his children up and embraced them as well.

"Here he is, safe and sound," Bret slid down to the ground and approached the happy family, "We promised we'd get him out too, didn't we?"

"I...I don't know what to say... thank you," tears of joy flowing down her face, Vera embraced him as well.

"All right, Hart; I don't know what stunt you're pulling here, but I want that oversized contraption out of here right now, or you and Hogan don't have a match!" Blassie shouted at the Hitman.

"Oh I think we will very much have a match, Blassie. Bring him here, Andre," Savage waved to the Giant, who dragged a limp Yermakov forward. "You see, Freddie, the general here enlivened us to a few things on the way back from the prison," the Macho Man hopped up to the apron and glared the Classy One down, "a lot of interesting things about a certain plot to give Volkoff the championship by throwing the champ in jail, something about DiBiase's money helping him decide to go along with it, yeah."

"You can't prove a damn thing, Macho; it's your word against mine, and we're in a place where the word of anyone connected with my man goes," Blassie countered.

"Maybe, but I think those American news agencies would believe us," Savage grandly gestured at the network news cameras at ringside filming the event, "So as I see it, you either back off and let the match proceed fairly, or we tell the media everything, and Jack Tunney has you, Volkoff, and everybody else in on this kicked out of organized wrestling for good once we get back to the states, ooooooh yeah. So what's it gonna be, hot dog?"

"Yeah, what's it going to be, you cheating cad?" Andre added, stepping onto the apron himself, where he towered visibly over Blassie. Blassie for once gulped to be in the Giant's presence. He glanced backwards at Volkoff, swaying drunkenly in place and belching loudly once more, then back at Savage and Andre. "I hate you," he growled at them, "I hate every last one of you...!"

"Don't worry, Comrade Blassie, I can take Hogan easy," Volkoff bragged with a still-noticeable slur, "Ring the bell timekeeper; let's get this on."

He pulled off his ring jacket and tossed it blindly in Blassie's direction, then stumbled drunkenly towards Hulk as the bell rang and swung a wild punch that missed completely. Hulk easily moved out of the Russian's way, then grabbed his arm and flung him into the far corner. "U.S.A.! U.S.A.!" a wound up Duggan started shouting atop the assault vehicle, where the rest of the Western wrestlers, excepting the Savages in Hulk's corner, had now congregated.

"Shut up you monkey!" the Sheik screeched at him. "What do we do now, Freddie?" he asked the Classy One worriedly, watching Hulk piledrive Volkoff to the mat and cover him, but only getting a two count this time, "If I knew Nikolai would have to be in here dead drunk..."

"I'm thinking, I'm thinking!" Blassie bellowed at him, sweating nervously in the cold, snowy air. He grimaced as Volkoff swung wildly at thin air several times and was then flattened by Hulk to the mat. "We're going to have to help him; give me the brass knuckles," he extended his arm.

"Um..." the Sheik searched frantically through his coat pockets, "Not here; they must be back at the hotel-I didn't think we'd need them, Freddie!" he protested when his manager glared at him, "I thought Hogan was locked up and as good as dead...!"

"Stop him!" Blassie pointed frantically into the ring, where Hulk was diving on Volkoff for another cover. The Sheik dove through the rope and broke up the pin in time-but was then decked hard in the face by Hulk for his troubles. The world champion hauled Volkoff up and rammed the two Mega Mercenaries together, then picked up Volkoff and slammed him hard. A wild look raging in his eyes, Hulk rushed for the ropes to enact the atomic leg drop, but Blassie grabbed the leg and tripped him. "Cripple him, while I figure out how to stop him for good!" he ordered his men, digging through his own pockets to search for anything that could be used to his advantage.

"Yes, Comrade Blassie. Good night, Hogan you bourgeois swine," Volkoff stumbled towards his foe-and right past him, ending up hanging over the ropes, where he proceeded to throw up. Blassie just managed to get out of the way in time. "Next time, remind me to keep you away from liquor before matches!" he upbraided the Russian. "Sheik, here!" he tossed his cane into the ring at the Iranian, who grabbed it and started towards Hulk...

"OOOOOOOOOh no you don't!" Savage rushed in and intercepted the Sheik. He knocked the cane out of his hands, grabbed him by the collar, rushed towards the ropes, and dove over them, snapping the Sheik back into the ring awkwardly. Hulk, meanwhile yanked Volkoff off the ropes with wild eyes, picked him up, and slammed him one more time. "That's it, Hulk; finish him now while he's down!" Elizabeth shouted the order from his corner.

"You've got it. Here we go, Volkoff, just like Lake Placid!" Hulk shouted to his opponent. He then quickly bounced off the far ropes, dropped the leg on the Russian and covered him for the three count. He let out an excited cry as the bell rang. The United States' honor had been upheld.

With a wide smile, he strode over to the corner and took the championship belt off the timekeeper, thrusting it into the air to the strains of Real American now playing again from his applauding teammates on the assault vehicle (and the loud crash as Blassie flipped over the timekeeper's table in frustration outside the ring). "Get it good, America," he held the belt towards the American network cameras, "This is why we're better than the Soviets at heart."

"You did it!" an ecstatic Elizabeth climbed into the ring and hugged him, "I'm so glad you overcame everything to...!"

"I'll kill you!" a murderous expression on his face, Blassie stormed into the ring, his cane back in hand. "You've embarrassed me and kept me from my belt for the last time, Hogan!" he snarled hatefully at the champion, "And I've had it with you upstaging me, you dirty skirt!" he bellowed even more hatefully at Elizabeth, raising his cane like a weapon, "You've both had this coming for a long time now...!"

"You ain't touching a hair on her head, Blassie!" livid, Savage stepped into his path, lifted the Classy One off his feet and hurled him on top of the prostrate Volkoff. "What happened?" the Soviet wrestler mumbled, stumbling to get to his feet, "Why hasn't the match started yet?"

With an angry roar, Blassie started kicking his charge unmercifully. "It's not over yet!" he barked at the Mega Powers between kicks, "That's MY title, and I'm going to get it next year no matter if everyone you know has to be crippled...!"

"You think you can cripple me, Blassie?" Andre stepped alongside him again, making the Classy One shiver. Andre growled at him and stepped forward, making Blassie quickly dive out of the ring. "Sorry, Freddie I tried..." a dazed Sheik tried to say to him, only to get decked in the jaw for his troubles. Blassie stomped up the aisle, leaving the dazed Volkoff behind in the ring, shouting one last time back towards Hulk, "Justice will be done next year, Hogan, mark my words!"

"Yeah, yeah, merry Christmas to you too, Blassie, ooooooooh yeah!" Savage shouted after him. His brow furled even more when he turned to see his wife still hugging Hulk hard. But before he could say anything, the rest of the Rock 'n Wrestling Connection poured into the ring. "Hail to the champion!" Piper all but screamed, lifting Hulk off his feet.

"Good work, Hulk; you whipped him good," Bret commended him as well.

"Just another day's work, Hitman; why thank you," Hulk looked down to see the Polivinovs at ringside now, and Kostya was handing him the American flag. He happily took it from the boy and waved it proudly despite the crowd's stunned silence. Then he pushed the ropes down and waved the entire Polivinov family into the ring. Hesitantly, they did so. Hulk took hold of Viktor's hand and raised it in celebration; the man deserve it too, he felt, for getting his freedom back on the most important night of the year. And then, an idea crossed his mind. A smile simultaneously crossed his face. He knew exactly what he could get the family for Christmas...

* * *

><p>"I thank you sincerely, ambassador," he said into the phone back at the apartment complex much later, "I'll let them know right now. Merry Christmas to you too."<p>

He hung up and walked back into the main apartment, where most of his teammates were sipping celebratory champagne with their hosts around the Summit Series trophy, now on its way back to the victorious U.S. "...Christmas morning, we'd come down in a flash, and in the good years when Stampede was making tons of money, there would be just an absolute mountain of presents waiting for us under the tree," Bret was telling the Polivinovs, "Some of the wars we had to open them were just as intense as the matches my brothers and I would have in the ring."

Hulk cleared his throat to get everyone's attention. "Speaking of presents, Viktor, Vera, I have one for you and the kids," he told them, taking a dramatic breath, "I just talked to the U.S. ambassador here; he'll willing to grant all of you asylum and safe passage."

"What?" Viktor looked happily stunned, "You mean...?"

"That's right," the world champion smiled, "I've arranged you all a permanent trip out of the Soviet Union. They'll help set you so all up in an American city of your choice, and make sure you can get better jobs than the ones you have now."

"Oh my God..." Vera looked stunned herself, "A real, real job..."

"Yep, no more janitorial work for you," Hulk told her proudly, "And, they'll also make sure they set something up with a good eye doctor so that Marina can finally have some sight."

Vera burst out sobbing in delight. "I...I don't know what to say," she mumbled, walking up to the world champion and then hugging him, "I...I'm sorry if I couldn't trust you all earlier...you did get Viktor back as you promised..."

"When we make promises, we intend to keep them," Davey told her, dropping Mathilda into Marina's lap again, "Consider this a special Christmas present from all of us."

"Yep, and you'll find America's infinitely better than anything here. We're glad to have some more citizens," Duggan told them proudly.

"So, Jim, now I suppose you see that not all Russians are bad, right?" Bret had to ask him.

"Well, I guess you were right, Hitman; these people here are all right," Duggan rubbed Kostya's hair.

"How about me?" Nikita spoke up from the corner, frowning.

"Yeah, Koloff, you're not so bad once someone gets to know you," Hacksaw conceded, "Your uncle still has a ways to go, but you're a good man at heart."

"Much appreciated," Nikita smiled, walking over and shaking Duggan's hand. "Well, Mr. Slaughter, you did it; you successfully completed one final mission," he walked towards the former Marine at the window, where he was finishing off his latest round of champagne, "You feel better now?"

"Much better, Mr. Koloff; I fought the good fight and won," Slaughter indeed looked happier now, "I gave dozens of people, including Mr. Polivinov, freedom, and what can be a better Christmas gift from America than that? So, a toast," he raised his glass high, "To the noble concept of universal freedom, and the best wishes for it in the coming year."

"To freedom," everyone agreed, raising their own glasses.

"And to Hogan," Slaughter raised his glass to the champion as well, "Long may he continue to reign."

"I hope so too, Sarge," Hulk smiled, raising his own glass, "Three years now; hard to believe I've been champ that long. Well, here's hoping to at least three more years on top giving America honor in the world of ahtletics."

* * *

><p>"Three years," Savage mused softly, staring out the window of his room at the Christmas snow still falling heavily outside, having left the party early, "That's an awful long time to be champion..."<p>

"What does it matter how long he's champion, Randy?" Elizabeth posed from the bed, where she was finishing the magazine she'd brought, "Certainly he's earned it being able to fairly keep it this long."

"Still, three years is pretty long," the Macho Man pointed out, frowning, "A lot of people come and go during those times-people who're just as worthy. Look at the rest of the Connection; they'd all make good champs too if they had the chance, yeah."

"They'll get their chance, Randy, just as you will," she rationalized, finishing the magazine and placing it on the nightstand, "Try not to let it worry you."

Savage shook his head softly. "I can't help it," he mumbled, "There's so many worthy contenders out there; why should one man have it for so long? I'm not gonna be young forever; I jumped from Dad's outfit for a chance at the world title. If he holds on to it till I'm too old...what if he never let's go of it till he retires...?"

He sighed out loud. "I can't help it, Elizabeth," he repeated, "I see everyone swarm him every time he wins, I see the smile on his face, see how thrilled he is to be cared for like that-I want that for us, I want to know how it feels to have reached the top of the mountain. And if anyone deserves the belt, it's you; for everything you've done to make my life better, you deserve nothing less than the title. If he holds it forever..."

A low sigh was all he got in response. He turned to see his bride had already fallen asleep. Shaking his head, Savage pulled the blind shut and climbed into bed with her. "Merry Christmas, Elizabeth Ann Hulette," he whispered softly, pulling her into a kiss and rubbing her hair affectionately, "I promise you, I'll get you your title this year, one way or another; I'll get you the world championship you deserve..."

THE END-FOR NOW


End file.
